


Xolotl Marks the Spot

by CydSA



Series: Sterek - Mythteries [3]
Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dragons, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, F/M, First Time, M/M, References to Aztec Religion & Lore, gryphons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 08:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3242267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CydSA/pseuds/CydSA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Targeted by an unknown enemy, Stiles and the Hale pack agree to work with Sam and Dean Winchester. Stiles isn't entirely sure the devil he <i>didn't</i> know was the lesser of two evils. But something about the Winchesters awakens his spark and changes them all forever. And of course then it gets completely ridiculous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Xolotl Marks the Spot

**Author's Note:**

> A hopefully not as silly three-quel to  Don’t Go Dragon My Heart Around  and  Gonna Keep A Gryphon Ya . I reckon you should probably read them first. 
> 
> The Supernatural ‘verse takes up around just after S9x13. Not canon compliant in any shape or form from there on out. *sticks fingers in ears while whistling*. 
> 
> I would like to apologize in advance for the license I took with Aztecan mythology. I remain unrepentant about the puns though. Those are FUN! 
> 
> Written for the 2014/2015 Sterek Big Bang 
> 
> Artist: the extremely patient  thecheekydragon  who made me comic book art that I might have flailed a little (a lot) over. Sorry for taking so long bb. Please go and leave mega love here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3231332
> 
> Alpha/Beta: framedhim  is my rock. Despite having writing issues of her own, she made time for my crazy. ILU bb ♥. Awesome apha/beta work by the wonderful  radlilim. I made a few changes based on his suggestions. They made this story better in every way. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> Thanks to  StoriesAndMagic  for her lightning swift translation of my summoning into Spanish.

**It'll Take a Long T'Eye'me**

Dean pulled up on the side of the road. The **Welcome to Beacon Hills** sign was lit up gently from below. “So this is the hotbed of the werewolf action then?” He looked over at Sam.

“Yeah,” Sam was hunched up in the passenger seat, as physically far from Dean as he could get without falling out of the car. “This is the place.” He didn’t look at Dean.

Dean clenched his jaw. He was just about done with Sam’s bullshit. He turned back onto the road again, heading into the town. The anger was a living thing in the car. 

Dean put on the loudest, most obnoxious music he could think of and sang along loudly. Sam could go and fuck himself.

**After Midn'Eye'ght**

Stiles called his dad. “Yo, Papa bear? Daddy-o, Father o’ mine!” Pain obviously made him stupid. His dad gave him a lot of slack, especially since the whole werewolf reveal shtick, but he tried not to stay out too late without letting his dad know.

“You’re beyond late in checking in with me, Stiles,” his father informed him without a greeting.

“Hi Dad,” Stiles said. “How has your day been? How are you? I’m great, thanks for asking.” Sarcasm was never an effective weapon, but it was the only one he had. He dropped his head back against the passenger seat, feeling Derek’s hand on his thigh, leeching out the pain. His breathing felt a little labored.

“What’s the excuse this time?” his dad sounded like his was rubbing the bridge of his nose again. 

“The reason, you mean?” Stiles tried to keep up the bright chirpy voice. Ith made a little noise in the back seat. He’d refused to stay with the betas when he’d seen Stiles’ injury.

“Well?”

“Scott fell into a bear trap,” Stiles blurted.

“He what?” His father’s voice was suddenly all business. “Bear traps are illegal.”

“So is cocaine and yet…” Stiles knew he was pushing it. 

“Is Scott alright?” His dad was the best.

“He’s fine,” Stiles assured him. 

“Then why are you calling me so late?” This time he meant it.

“I sort of fell in the bear trap too,” Stiles looked down at his roughly bandaged arm. All arm-related exercise would have to wait for a couple of weeks. Good thing he had Derek to help him out with that. Heh. Derek just rolled his eyes when Stiles waggled his eyebrows at him.

“Of course you did,” his dad sighed. “Are _you_ alright?” His tone suggested he already knew the answer.

“Well, I’m alive so that’s a good thing, right?” Stiles thought he’d better lead with the good news.

“Stiles.”

“One of the wooden stakes went through my arm,” Stiles said. “I’ve wrapped it up but I think I’m going to need stitches. And hopefully my last tetanus shot is still valid.”

“Oh god,” his dad sighed again. “I’m on my way.”

“No!” Stiles held up his hand as though his dad could see him. “Derek taking me to the hospital. Mrs. McCall’s on duty.” He knew Mrs. M would be an acceptable parental substitute.

“Derek?” His dad sounded surprised. “Was he cavorting in the preserve with the rest of you kids when this all happened?”

“Yeah, but now he’s gone all ‘grr!arr’ so I need to let him be the big scary alpha and take care of his mate,” he said. Derek dug his fingers in a little. Stiles winced. “Can we maybe have the third degree later? I’m bleeding on Derek’s seats and he’s giving me the murder eyes.” Stiles was suddenly beyond tired.

“Okay,” his dad sounded like he was rubbing at the spot between his eyebrows that Stiles considered his own. “Go to the hospital,” his dad ordered. “I’m on my way.”

“Fine.” Stiles knew better than to argue more. “Love you, Dad.” Stiles never ended a conversation without saying it.

“Love you too, even though you made me grey by twenty.” Neither did his dad.

“Lies!” Stiles gasped. “Bye.”

**What Can I Say After I Say Eye'm Sorry**

Dean flashed his badge at the pretty officer behind the desk at the Beacon Hills police station. “Hi there, I’m Agent Taylor and this is my partner, Agent May from the National Parks Services.” He tried his best smile but she just stared back at him. “We’re here to investigate the reports of excessive wildlife activities here in your lovely little part of the world.”

“You’d better talk to the Sheriff.” She didn’t even crack a hint of a smile. 

“Well, I’m sure you can tell us _something_ about it?” Dean cajoled. “It’s always the front desk that hears about anything first.”

“I’ll just give him a call, shall I?” She picked up the phone and dialed an extension. “Sheriff Stilinski, I know you’re heading out, but there are two agents from the NPS here to see you.” She paused. “They want to talk about the excessive wildlife activity in Beacon Hills.” Dean could practically hear the quotation marks. She wasn’t a nice lady at all.

“The Sheriff will see you now.” She motioned with her head to the back of the station. Dean managed a tight smile. He followed the direction of her head-tilt and went through the small cop station to a door that carried the brass-plated “Sheriff” moniker of the truly small town.

The man behind the desk inside was already standing when Sam and Dean walked in after knocking. He held out a hand. “I’m Sheriff John Stilinski.” He shook Dean’s hand and then Sam’s. “What brings the NPS to our door?” He motioned for them to sit after they showed him their badges.

“As I mentioned to your lovely officer in the front,” Dean began and saw the Sheriff’s mouth twitch. “She does that to everyone, doesn’t she?” He scowled at the sheriff’s grin.

“Francine’s a little protective and to be frank, strangers in Beacon Hills usually mean trouble.” He was a well-built guy in his mid to late forties with sharp blue eyes and a strong face. “Even NPS agents.”

Dean picked up on the tone. “You don’t like strangers,” he stated.

Sheriff Stilinski shook his head. “Especially strangers from a government agency with the same names as two members of one of the greatest bands of all time, _Brian_ and _Roger_.” He met Dean’s gaze directly. “Who are you, really?”

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Sam chose that moment to end his century of silence. “I’m Sam Winchester, and this is my brother Dean.”

The sheriff nodded. “Hunters,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“You know about us?” Dean exchanged a look with Sam. “About what we do?”

“Yes,” John Stilinski got up once more and closed his office door. “I’ve met several of your kind.” It didn’t sound like a compliment.

“We’re the good guys, Sheriff,” Dean assured him.

The smile that ghosted across his face wasn’t a nice one. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Who have you crossed paths with?” Sam asked. Dean could see he was at full alert. Neither of them had been expecting law enforcement to know about the shit that they dealt with. And suspicious cops only made situations more complicated.

“I’m not sure how much I should admit to you,” the sheriff admitted. Just then, his mobile rang. He glanced down, made a face and picked it up. “I’m sorry, I have to take this, it’s my son.” He answered the phone, “Stiles? Oh, hi Melissa.”

Dean couldn’t hear the conversation from the other side, but he knew resignation when he saw it on the sheriff’s face. “Yeah, he called me. I’m on my way, thanks.” He was up and moving before he’d even ended the call.

At the door he seemed to remember them. “I’ve got to get to the hospital. My son has managed to get himself injured again.”

“Can we drive you somewhere, Sheriff?” Sam’s question was soft, careful. It was a tone Dean hadn’t heard in a while.

The sheriff shook his head. “I’m okay. Thank you.” He stopped again, turning, eyes considering. “On second thought, sure. That’ll be great, thanks.” Dean had the idea that it was partly to get to his son as quickly as he could, and partly to keep an eye on them.

Dean led the way out of the station, Francine’s eyes narrowed on them as she saw the sheriff walking between them. “Are you going out, sir?” she called.

“I’ll be at the hospital, Francine,” he replied without turning around.

“Stiles okay?” Francine didn’t sound remotely surprised, and Dean wondered what the kid was like.

“Yeah,” the sheriff sighed and followed Dean to their car. 

“You should sit up front,” Sam climbed into the back seat of the Impala. “Dean is going to need directions.”

Dean’s mouth thinned. Sam was being fucking difficult. But he wouldn’t air their personal shit in front of a stranger. He started the car without a word, obeying the sheriff’s order to turn right at the traffic light.

“Does your son know about hunters too?” Dean tried to make conversation.

The sheriff laughed a little. “He’s the one who stumbled onto the supernatural stuff. _He_ told _me_ about the others like you. He’s very…uh…involved.”

“The others?” Dean really wanted a name. He looked at Sam via the rear view mirror and saw that he was watching the sheriff just as carefully, smart phone at the ready for research.

“The Argents. They’re an old hunter family,” the sheriff said. Sam nodded to himself, and typed a few words into his phone. “There were five of them here, but now there are only two.”

“What happened to the other three?” Dean turned left, and spotted a large building at the end of the road that he assumed was the hospital.

“Werewolves.” The word was stark, and Dean didn’t know what had happened. He recognized the tone though.

“Did the other two take the werewolves out?” Sam looked up from his phone.

“No,” John Stilinski said. “Chris Argent is the head of the family. His sister Kate set fire to a house and killed almost an entire family of werewolves.”

Dean smiled fiercely. “Good girl,” he nodded.

The sheriff shook his head. “She was a mass murderer.” His lip curled a little. “There were children in that house. Humans too.”

“Humans?” Dean was staggered at the thought. 

“You sure they weren’t held captive by the wolves?” Sam leaned forward, looking at the sheriff.

“Mr. Winchester…”

“Sam, please.”

“Sam, I’m not sure how long you’ve been doing the hunting thing, but it’s apparently quite normal for a werewolf pack to consist of both wolves and humans.” The sheriff met Sam’s eyes through the mirror. “Maybe you should have done better research.”

Sam flinched, looking away. Dean wasn’t down with anyone dissing his little brother except him. “We’ve been hunters most of our lives,” Dean informed the sheriff. “We’ve forgotten things that most hunters are just learning.”

“Well then, perhaps someone didn’t tell you the whole truth about werewolves.” The sheriff was out of the car almost before it stopped. Dean and Sam raced to keep up with him. The hospital doors slid open and closed behind the sheriff before they could get there. 

Dean looked around the emergency room. It was fairly quiet, nothing like a big city hospital. They probably didn’t get that many medical emergencies. Although, based on Francine, the nasty desk clerk’s reaction earlier, Stiles was a regular visitor.

They stood near the doors, just far enough not to trigger the automatic opening action. “Do you believe him?” Sam asked. It was the first direct thing he’d said to Dean in almost a week.

“I believe that _he_ believes it,” Dean nodded to where the sheriff was talking to a hot older woman. “He doesn’t seem like the sort of guy to lie.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “The Argents have a reputation for specializing in werewolf hunting,” he showed Dean his phone. “They’ve been around a long time.”

“Huh,” Dean said. Just then, everything went on alert when a kid came out of one of the rooms with a pale face, followed by a tall guy, maybe a few years older, in a leather jacket and designer stubble that Dean could only dream of achieving.

“Whoa,” Sam said, hand going to the inside pocket of his jacket where the demon knife rested. Dean had learned to trust Sam’s instincts. For some reason, (the Yellow-Eyed Demon, and he wasn’t going to think about that, thank you very much), Sam had often known when something not quite human was around. He knew how to spot a werewolf wearing its human skin. 

“Wait,” Dean held out a hand, and saw the kid talking to the sheriff earnestly. He looked like a puppy with floppy dark hair, huge brown eyes and a crooked jaw that made him look years younger than he probably was. 

Dean and Sam edged closer to be able to hear the conversation. They stopped abruptly when the stubbled dude flashed red eyes at them in warning. 

“Did you see that?” Sam whispered.

“Holy shit,” Dean breathed. “He’s an Alpha.” His fingers were itching to pull out his gun, but he knew he’d be dead before he lifted his hand.

The Alpha put a big hand on the kid’s shoulder, saying something that made him turn his face into the woman’s neck. Not the sheriff’s son then.

The sheriff patted the kid’s back and went into the room they had come out of, the Alpha at his back. Dean and Sam moved nearer again.

The woman looked at them with sharp eyes. “Who are you?” she demanded.

Sam held up his hands. “I’m Sam Winchester and this is my brother Dean.” Sam didn’t even bother with anything but the truth when he looked at the kid. “We came in with the Sheriff.”

The kid’s eyes were narrowed with suspicion. Dean saw the glint of gold and realized that this was another wolf. A quick exchange of glances with Sam told him that he’d spotted it too. “Omega or beta?” he mouthed. Sam shrugged. A monster was a monster was a monster.

“I’m Scott McCall.” The kid stepped right up into their space, in front of the woman. “What do you want?” His jaw was set. His eyes were steel-hard and way older than they should have been.

“Scott,” the woman admonished with a hand on his shoulder.

“They smell like gunpowder and blood, Mom.” Scott’s lip curled. “You’re not here by accident.”

Dean wondered how much he should say. Just then, Sheriff Stilinski came out of the hospital room. The Alpha was at his back, shoulders tight and looking exhausted.

“I told you he’d be fine,” the woman said, hand on the sheriff’s arm.

The sheriff nodded and patted her hand. “Thanks Melissa, I should have known better when he mentioned stitches.” He shook his head. “That kid.”

He suddenly seemed to remember them. “Oh,” he said with an uncomfortable look over at Scott. “I’m sorry,” he waved a hand at the room he’d just come from. “Stiles is…”

Sam nodded. “He’s okay?” Dean was always impressed with how much genuine empathy Sam could put into a few words. Hardly anyone was able to resist the power of the Sam Winchester Puppy Eyes.

The sheriff smiled. “The cut needed a few more than just a couple of stitches. He may have played down the injury when I spoke to him. He lost a lot of blood,” he looked over to where the Alpha stood silently menacing. Dean’s trigger finger was still very itchy. “Derek took care of him.”

“Derek?” Dean took the opportunity to stare directly at tall, dark and broody.

“Hale,” Derek said. He didn’t offer a hand. Neither did Dean.

“Scott!” A pretty brunette came rushing in, throwing her arms around the kid’s neck. “Erica called me. Is Stiles okay?” 

Scott never took his eyes from Dean as he squeezed her waist. “He’s going to be fine.” 

She pulled away and turned to look at Sam and Dean. “Hi,” the dimples were deep and disarming.

“Hey,” Dean nodded at her. “Dean Winchester. This is my brother Sam.”

Her big brown eyes went wide, and before Dean could move, she had a wicked looking knife in her hand. “We don’t want you here,” she kept her voice low, obviously trying to avoid attention. “You should just leave.”

“You know who we are?” Sam asked, eyebrows raised. Dean felt a little shiver run down his spine. It always surprised them both just how far their reputations had stretched. It wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

“The Argents protect Beacon Hills,” the girl said, and she suddenly looked nothing like the sweet kid she’d appeared to be a moment ago. The sheriff moved towards the girl but stopped when the Alpha put a big hand on his shoulder, shaking his head.

Dean decided that they needed to move this somewhere they could talk. He looked at the Alpha, Hale, and raised an eyebrow. “You feel like taking a walk?” he asked, watching the abortive movement of protest from Scott.

The girl put her knife away and wrapped her fingers around Scott’s. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she lifted her chin. “What guarantees Derek’s safety?”

Hale nodded at Sam. “Your brother can keep the sheriff company.” It wasn’t a request.

Dean met Sam’s gaze, nodded once and followed Hale out of the waiting area.

The night was clear and cold, the onset of winter a tangible thing in the wind that smacked into Dean’s face as he stepped outside. He had led the way in an attempt to show the werewolf that he was not afraid.

“The wolves of Beacon Hills don’t kill humans,” were the first words that came from Hale.

Dean moved away from the hospital entrance, into the shadows of the building, leaning almost casually against one of the walls. “A lot of wolves claim that,” he folded his arms across his chest.

“The Hales have lived in Beacon Hills for a long time.” Dean watched anger and pain flit across the Alpha’s face. “It wasn’t until a few years ago that we had issues with hunters again.”

“That would be the Kate Argent issue?” Dean wasn’t prepared for the rage that twisted Derek Hale’s face.

“She destroyed my life.” 

“And you killed her?” Dean itched to pull out his gun and take the monster down.

“Derek?” Three shadows came closer, the glint of gold greeting Dean in the dark.

“It’s okay,” Hale put out a hand. “You should go inside. Scott needs you.”

Dean didn’t drop his gaze as the wolves looked him over. “Hunter?” the big dude with dark skin asked.

“Yeah,” Derek replied, “It’s okay, Boyd, we’re just talking.” 

“Look, no weapons,” Dean held up his hands and waggled his fingers. “Just a friendly hunter-to-werewolf chat.”

The pretty, but very scary-looking blonde, growled low. “Erica, go.” The order was clear in Derek’s voice. The betas were clearly no match for the command of their Alpha. They weren’t happy though as they headed into the hospital. They looked back several times before they disappeared into the building.

“So, you have a pack of kids?” Dean asked, stalling until Sam took care of the pack and came out to help him with the alpha. Dean was under no illusion that he could handle Hale on his own.

“You should leave,” Derek said. “We haven’t had major trouble here in a long time and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Do the humans know what your kind are capable of?” Dean thought of the sheriff and the pretty girl with the hard eyes. 

“More than you ever will,” Derek told him, sneering a little. 

“And the Argents?” Dean wanted to know more about the hunter family who hadn’t done anything about the werewolf problem.

“The girl who pulled a knife on you?” Derek quirked an eyebrow. “Allison Argent, head of the Argent family.”

Dean frowned. “The sheriff said it was a guy, Chris Argent?” He tried to reconcile the dimples with the ability to kill. It shouldn’t have been hard. Sam was the same.

“The Argents are matriarchal,” Derek told him, eyes sliding away towards the hospital doors. “We have an agreement with them.”

Dean remembered the girl’s face when she hugged Scott. “She’s involved with your beta.”

“They’re mated,” Derek corrected. 

A hunter and a werewolf deliberately mated. Dean thought it sounded like the premise of a bad porno. Or a blood-bath. The hospital doors slid open again, and the nurse who’d been talking to the sheriff came towards them. “Stiles is awake,” she smiled at Derek. “He’s asking for you.”

She hadn’t even finished speaking before Hale was gone, ignoring the threat that Dean posed. 

Dean blinked. He wasn’t used to that at all.

“He’s a good guy,” the nurse said. Dean whipped around to look at her. She held out a hand. “Melissa McCall.”

Dean put the numbers together. “Scott’s mother.”

She nodded. “I’m guessing you’re not in the habit of talking to werewolves on a social basis. You strike me as the ‘shoot first, apologize later’ sort of guy.”

Dean wanted to move, to head inside and grab Sam and figure out what the fuck was going on in this town. “I’m trained to take out the monsters.” He was getting antsy being out here while the wolves were all inside. He had to get to Sam.

“My son, Scott, you met him in there. Do you think he’s a monster?” Her quiet question took him by surprise. 

He looked at her. “Mrs. McCall, I’ve been hunting the things that go bump in the night for most of my life. I’ve not yet met a werewolf that _isn’t_ a monster.” He took the few quick steps needed to get to the hospital entrance.

The doors swished open, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Sam safe. He was sitting down, talking softly with the Argent girl.

“My son is _not_ a monster,” the fierce tone made Dean look back at Melissa. “He’s a good, kind and honorable person.” She wasn’t smiling any more. “Here’s a friendly bit of advice that I’ve got a feeling you’ll ignore. You’d better not even think about hurting him or his pack. The people in this town have the Hale pack’s protection. We don’t take it lightly.”

Dean was stunned. The entire town knew about the wolves?

Derek came of the room where Dean assumed the sheriff’s son was resting. “You should just leave.” The Alpha now sounded as exhausted as he looked. Dean realized that Derek was young, about ten years, maybe more, younger than him.

“We were called to take care of a problem here,” Sam said, standing up and taking his position at Dean’s shoulder. At least some things were the same, Dean thought.

“Who called you?” Scott demanded. His face was twisted and angry. “It wouldn’t be someone who lives here.”

Derek touched Scott’s back with a careful hand. Dean noticed how quickly the kid responded and settled. It made something squirm inside Dean to see the trust in the eyes of all of these kids looking at their Alpha.

“What happened to Stiles?” Sam asked, the abrupt change of topic making Dean’s head spin.

“We were training in the preserve and he and Scott fell into a bear trap,” Derek said, eyes intent on Sam. Dean was surprised that he gave up even this much information.

“You have bears here?” Dean hadn’t heard of wild bears in this part of California for years.

“No, we don’t,” Derek stared at them, eyes calculating suddenly. “That wasn’t a bear trap.”

Boyd, the scary-looking big guy, scowled. “It was a wolf trap,” he spat. The low-level growl that spun through the room was bone-chilling. Dean tried not to freak out but it was just him and Sam against an Alpha, at least four betas and god knows who else. There was no way to win this fight without serious damage to their side.

“What the hell is going on?” The sheriff came out of his son’s room and glared at them. “Stiles needs to rest, so take whatever your crap is outside.”

“The bear trap wasn’t a bear trap,” Scott told him, face pale.

The sheriff stared and then swallowed hard. “Someone tried to kill you guys?” His gaze was suspicious as he met Dean’s. “When did you two get into town?”

“We had nothing to do with it,” Dean protested, suddenly in the unheard of position of assuring someone that he _hadn’t_ tried to kill a monster.

“The Winchesters have a good reputation,” the Argent girl, Allison spoke up. “This isn’t their style.”

Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about being defending by a girl who looked like he could snap her in two with one hand. He wasn’t stupid enough to say anything though. He’d take the assistance where he could if it meant that no-one died.

“Then who?” Erica, the blonde wolf spoke. Dean looked at her properly for the first time. She favored the black leather of that the entire pack seemed to wear, apart from Scott. It looked a _whole_ lot better on her though. 

“Another hunter?” Allison suggested.

“Stiles was the target,” Derek growled. They all looked at him, waiting for him to explain. “Normally, we’d have been running ahead and he’d be trailing us.” They nodded in agreement. “Scott stayed with Stiles tonight. And they were focusing on Ith. That’s why Scott didn’t sense the trap.” 

Dean wondered who Ith was. 

Scott looked anguished. “It’s my fault Stiles got hurt.”

Derek touched Scott’s shoulder in comfort. Dean didn’t know who looked more awkward, Derek or Scott. Derek obviously wasn’t the cuddly sort of Alpha. “He’ll be fine. We just need to figure out who wants him dead.”

“Was the trap designed to maim or kill?” Sam asked into the silence that followed. Dean could feel the weight of their stares.

“It wasn’t that deep,” Scott shook his head, frowning. 

“The spikes weren’t sharp, and there weren’t enough to do any real damage to a wolf or a bear,” Erica added. “Scott could jump out of it pretty easily.”

Boyd nodded. “If Scott hadn’t been giving Stiles his full attention, there’s no way he’d have ended up in the trap.”

Derek’s mouth was grim. “So it looks like Stiles _was_ the target.” Even Dean could see that this freaked the entire pack out. He really wanted to meet Stiles Stilinski. “Isaac, you and Erica take first watch. One inside his room, the other stationed outside.”

The betas nodded and moved off. Erica went into the hospital room, and Isaac, the angel-faced kid with tousled curls slid down the side of the wall, folding his legs and settling in.

“Scott, Boyd, I want you to go back to the preserve. See if you can pick up a scent trail from the trap.” Derek looked murderous. “I want to know who or what we’re dealing with.” 

They nodded and were gone a moment later.

“I’ll call Lydia and Danny,” Allison said. “There must be something we can do.”

“Look through the latest hotel reservations,” Derek suggested. “Whoever it is could have been here for a few days already to set the trap.” He met Dean’s gaze. “You should leave.”

Dean shook his head. “If something supernatural is gunning for a human, then it’s our job to step in.” He looked at Sam, who nodded his agreement.

“We don’t need you here,” Derek snarled.

The sheriff held up a hand. “Hold on, now,” he stared hard at Derek, and then Dean. “It’s _my_ son lying in the room behind us. I think I get to have a say.”

Derek’s jaw went tight. “Fine,” he gritted, “but you need to remember, that most hunters believe that the only good werewolf is a dead one.” He took a deep breath. “Take care of Stiles,” he ordered before he spun on his heel and left.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Temperamental for an Alpha, isn’t he?”

“That man has saved my son too many times to count,” the sheriff warned. “You don’t get to pass judgment on the wolves in this town.” 

“We only want to help,” Sam offered in conciliation. “If the werewolves aren’t the problem, then let us help you find out what is.”

Melissa put a hand on the sheriff’s arm. “We could use the help,” she said, watching John Stilinski. “It’s not a bad idea.”

A kid stumbled out of the hospital room behind them, left arm swathed in bandages. “It’s the _worst_ idea, _ever_ , Dad!” he exclaimed.

And slid to the floor, barely managing to avoid concussing himself as he passed out.

**One Piece at a T'Eye'me**

Stiles admitted that he could have been cooler about the strange hunters who’d shown up at the hospital room with his dad.

“I did _not_ faint,” he grumbled as his dad helped him back into the bed.

“Like a girl,” his dad told him, smiling a little as he settled him under the covers.

His dad was the worst.

“Who are they?” Stiles demanded.

“ _They_ are Dean and Sam Winchester,” the shorter dude with icy green eyes introduced themselves. “We’re here to help.”

“We don’t trust hunters,” Stiles informed him. “Derek probably ran screaming into the trees.” His dad gave a helpless little shrug.

“You trust the Argents,” Gigantor, Sam, pointed out.

“They’re friends,” Stiles glared at him. “Well, Allison is, anyway,” he amended. “Mr. Argent is a scary mothe…” he looked over at his father. “…person.”

Dean looked away, but Stiles could see the slight curve of his mouth. If you ignored the fact that Dean Winchester was a walking, talking killing machine, he was freaking hot. Like, Derek Hale levels of hot. Stiles hadn’t ever believed that he’d say that. He also thought he’d better _never_ say that out loud in front of His Possessive Wolfiness.

“They were brought here by someone who reported that werewolves were making trouble in town,” his dad said.

Stiles folded his arms. “The Hale pack protects Beacon Hills.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine, the Hale pack are a bunch of fucking puppies who shit rainbows. We get it, they’re the good guys. Now, I want to hear about the bear trap you managed to fall into.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Why should I tell you anything?” he asked.

Sam pulled up the crappy plastic chair leaning against the wall. “Because we really _are_ the good guys.” He turned the chair so that he straddled it, leaning on the back with his elbows. Stiles was distracted by all that pretty hair.

“Stiles!” his dad hissed and Stiles gaze shot up guiltily. Dean’s nostrils were flaring, and Sam looked like he was about to choke on his laughter.

“Sorry,” Stiles muttered. “Thanks dad,” he glared at his father who was red in his face.

“I would like to apologize in advance for the mobile hormone that is Stiles,” his dad said, which was so unfair, and totally not true. “He does actually have self-control. And let’s never tell Derek about this, ever.”

“Hey!” Stiles protested. “Way to gang up on the injured child in the room.”

His dad barely spared him a glance. “If you feel well enough to check someone out, then you’re okay to leave the hospital,” he said instead.

“You are the actual worst father in the history of the world,” Stiles scowled. “I may be on diet, but it doesn’t mean I can’t look at the freaking menu.”

Sam gave a snort of laughter. “Dean and I should tell you about our dad sometime,” he said. The dimples vanished when he looked at Dean. 

“Tell us about the trap,” Dean growled. Stiles thought he could seriously give Derek a run for his money in the growling orders department.

“It was in the ground. I fell in.” Stiles thought that was helpful.

“How did you injure yourself?” Sam asked. 

Stiles reckoned that Sam probably spent a lot of time apologizing for Dean. Much like the amount of time he spent apologizing for Derek…and Erica…and Boyd…and Isaac. He sighed. “There were wooden stakes in the ground. Scott fell on top of me. One of the stakes ripped the shit out of my arm.” He stopped. “Why would there be a bear trap in the preserve?” He looked at his dad. “We don’t have bears here.”

“Yeah,” his dad said and he sat down on the edge of the bed. “That’s the problem.”

“They weren’t after bears or werewolves,” Stiles’ mind was racing at the speed of light. “They were after me!” He stared at his dad. “Dad! They were after me!”

His dad grabbed his hand. “Derek is already on it, trying to figure things out.”

Stiles remembered their conversation in the preserve when Derek was carrying him like some damsel in distress. “He said it was someone declaring war.”

Sam tapped his lips in thought. “I wonder…” he mused.

“Spit it out, Sammy,” Dean waved an impatient hand. Stiles noticed the look Sam shot Dean was seriously unfriendly. There was obviously some sort of family shit going on behind the scenes. Having met the Argents, Stiles knew that hunters were fucked up.

“Do you think it’s possible that the call we got about the werewolves here was made by the same person who tried to take Stiles out?” Sam looked over at the sheriff. “Maybe they wanted to use us to get the wolves out of the way.”

Stiles felt an icy finger of fear trail down the back of his neck. “Why me though?” he asked. “I’m not special.”

His dad ran a careful hand over his short hair. “You’re special to a lot of people, kiddo.”

Stiles wanted to lean into that touch, wallow in the warmth of his father’s love. “Love you too, Dad.”

Dean had started pacing from one side of the room to the other. Stiles noticed that Sam never took his eyes off his brother. Except when Dean was looking at Sam. Then Sam was Mr. Avoid-your-gaze-I-hate-your-guts. _So_ many issues. 

“The guy who phoned you, Sammy, did he give a name?” Dean fixed his eyes on Sam, who shook his head. “Was it a man?” Sam nodded. “Okay, so we have a guy wanting hunters to come to Beacon Hills and kill a pack of werewolves who are actually peaceful.”

“Don’t forget trying to kill me!” Stiles reminded him.

Dean shook his head. “We don’t know for sure that it’s the same person, so let’s work on them as separate issues first.”

“The Hale pack has been in an alliance with the Argents for a couple of years now,” Stiles told Dean. “How come other hunters don’t know this?” What he really meant was how come the Winchesters didn’t know.

Sam lowered his eyes to his hands. “We’ve not really kept in touch with many other hunters,” he admitted. “We move around too much.”

Dean’s mouth was tight. “Plus the fact that most hunters who work with us or know us, tend to end up dead.”

Stiles was alarmed. “Hey, don’t bring whatever crap you’re dealing with to our town! We have enough of our own shit to deal with!”

His dad stood up. “Can we expect trouble?” he asked.

Dean shook his head. “Not yet,” he looked at Sam. “But we won’t be staying long, so hopefully our baggage will skip your town.”

Stiles saw Sam stare at Dean. There was longing and love and desperation in his eyes. Then Sam realized that Stiles was looking at him, and he dropped his gaze again. Stiles was fascinated. He wanted to dig, to find out more about these hunters. He needed his computer. This called for Research Mode Stiles.

Melissa came in then, looking official. She made scooting motions with her hands. “Come on, you lot, get out of here and let the kid sleep.” 

Stiles closed his eyes when he saw the fond smile she gave his dad. He refused to accept that this romance was anything more than holding hands. Maybe Eskimo kisses at most. Just the thought of his dad and Mrs. M doing the nasty made him want to scratch out his eyes. Then he remembered Mr. Argent and Creepy Uncle Peter were all currently dating her. There was just _so_ much wrong in this world

“Will he be safe here?” Dean was the only one to ask the question. Stiles saw the startled expression on his dad’s face. The thought had never occurred to him.

Stiles waved a hand at the corner of the room where Erica had dragged several blankets and made herself a nest. “I have a puppy in my room, and another one outside. I’m good.”

His dad seemed about to argue so Stiles held up a hand. “I’d really rather you guys figure out what or who is trying to kill me and why.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed on Erica. “She doesn’t seem to be doing anything other than catching up on her beauty sleep.”

A second later, Dean was held up against the wall, with a clawed hand around his throat, and Erica growling into his face. “I take care of my pack,” she hissed through her fangs. Stiles adored her. She was utterly badass. 

Sam pulled his knife a moment after. “Let him go,” he ordered. There was something in Sam’s eyes that told Stiles that he would kill just as easily as he smiled. Sam Winchester was a scary motherfucker. Stiles felt fear for Erica as Sam moved behind her, knife raised.

Isaac came into the room, big eyes wide. “Everything okay?” he asked. Stiles could see the claws elongating on his hands.

“All peachy,” Stiles assured him. Derek had chosen his two most amoral betas to watch over him. Neither Erica nor Isaac would hesitate to kill on the orders of their Alpha. Stiles felt all warm and fuzzy. Derek totally loved him the best.

“Fine,” Dean gasped around Erica’s hand. “You’ll protect him, I get it.” Stiles enjoyed seeing the pretty shade of puce Dean’s face was turning. Erica finally let him go, lifting her lip in a snarl.

Sam put the knife away, raising his eyebrows at Dean in silent communication. Dean rubbed at his neck, and nodded. “I’m okay.” Stiles had a feeling that Erica and Isaac were alive only because Dean wasn’t hurt in any way.

“Hey,” Stiles kept his voice low and she spun to look at him. A moment later, both Erica and Isaac were bracketing him in the bed, somehow squeezing onto the tiny mattress, arms around him, faces hidden in his throat.

His dad cleared his throat and motioned to Sam and Dean. “I think he’s good for now.”

There was something like longing in Dean’s eyes as he watched them. Stiles wondered why. He saw them leave through half-closed eyes, already drowsy from the medication and the body heat of Isaac and Erica. He was asleep before the door closed.

**Smells L'Eye'ke Happiness**

Dean was confused. He’d come to Beacon Hills, amped and ready to take out some werewolves. Instead, they’d found a pack who co-existed with an entire town as well as a hunter family. And then there was Stiles. The kid wasn’t a wolf, but he was obviously important to the pack, to the Alpha.

There was genuine feeling there, between the betas and Stiles. He’d felt a twinge of envy watching them cuddling together on the bed. He’d never seen anything like it before.

“You two have a place to stay?” the sheriff asked.

Sam shook his head. “We came directly to your station when we got into town. We should probably get a room at the hotel on the way out of town.”

“You’ll stay with me,” the sheriff said. It wasn’t a request.

Dean wasn’t really down with bunking with the local law enforcement. “Thanks, Sheriff Stilinski, but…”

“I insist,” the sheriff said. “And it’s John.”

Dean shrugged. “Awesome, free digs are always welcome.” He ignored Sam’s incredulous face. “You want me to take you back to the station first?”

John shook his head. “Not necessary. One of my deputies will bring my car out later. I’m about ready to hit the sack anyway, don’t know about you.”

Dean wasn’t fooled by the good ole boy self-deprecation. John Stilinski missed nothing with those sharp eyes. He and Sam would have to be very careful. There was only one reason for the sheriff to have them under his roof, and it wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart. They were being watched.

“Well, I guess you ride shotgun again,” Dean headed for the Impala, Sam at his heels. 

“I’ll be there in a moment,” John turned to Melissa McCall. “Call me if there are any…”

“There won’t be,” she told him gently, “but I will.”

Dean looked away as John bent his head to kiss her softly. They looked new, still shiny in love. It made Dean’s heart ache.

**Take These Chains From M'Eye Heart**

The Stilinski house was a modest two-story with a well-kept garden. John led them inside, just raising his eyebrows at the arsenal they carried in with them. “I’m going to take it those are all legally licensed and registered.”

“Of course,” Dean lied without a hitch in his breathing, meeting John’s gaze squarely.

“Right,” John’s tone was droll as he headed up the stairs. He opened a door at the end of the passage. “This is the spare room. It only has the one bed, but there’s also one of those blow-up mattresses.” He smiled. “I’d offer one of you Stiles’ room, but I reckon he’s going to be home in the morning and well-”

Sam shook his head. “This is great, thanks.” He dropped his gear on the floor. “We can take turns on the bed.”

Dean flinched. Sam wasn’t even trying. Fucker. He dug up a half-smile for John. “Thanks, sheriff. It’s been a while since we’ve not spent the night in a motel or the car.”

John nodded. “I’m going to grab a shower and then some sleep. We can talk more in the morning when Stiles gets home. Maybe Derek will have more information by then.” He raised a hand, closing the door as he left.

Sam didn’t say a word, just started setting up the inflatable mattress. Dean watched him, seething. “You plan on giving me the silent treatment for the rest of your life?” he asked eventually when the silence got too much. 

Sam busied himself with sheets and pillows and blankets, not looking at Dean. “I’ll take the mattress tonight,” was all he said.

“Sammy, come on, man. Fuck. You can’t be mad at me forever.” Dean was desperate as he stepped right up into Sam’s space. The narrowing of Sam’s eyes told Dean that he’d better back the fuck off. Dean tended to ignore those warnings.

“Dean,” Sam’s low rumble spoke volumes. “I’m not in the mood for this.”

Dean threw caution to the wind. “Well, too fucking bad,” he stuck his chin out. “You’ve been ignoring me for a week now, and I’m sick and fucking tired of it.”

“Fuck you,” Sam said pleasantly. “Seriously Dean, you think I’m going to let this slide? Fuck. You.”

Dean’s jaw hurt he clenched it so hard. “I made a mistake,” he admitted.

Sam shook his head. “You do shit like this all the time. Then you expect me to forget it without once thinking about the consequences.”

“What more do you want from me, man?” Dean held out his hands. “I’m alive, you’re alive, it all ended okay, didn’t it?”

“I killed Kevin,” the stark words fell between them like shards of ice. “I killed my friend because you fucked up.”

Dean froze. “You didn’t kill Kevin.” His throat was closing fast. “Gadreel killed him. You _know_ that.”

“With _my_ hands,” Sam showed him his palms. The skin was rough and blistered, almost like Sam had been scrubbing at it for hours.

“Sammy,” Dean breathed, moving closer. He wanted to grab onto Sam, hold on and never let go.

Sam stepped back. “We keep doing this,” he sighed, sitting down on the bed. 

Dean sat down cautiously beside him. “Keep doing what?” 

“Saving each other at the expense of everyone and everything else,” Sam’s shoulders slumped. “I just don’t think I’m worth saving anymore.”

Dean’s heart ratcheted up in panic. “Don’t say shit like that, man.” He put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You’ve saved the world. More than once.”

“And I should have been dead several times over,” Sam rubbed his eyes. “You just keep bringing me back, making deals, damn the consequences.”

Dean swallowed hard. “You’re all I’ve got.” It was almost impossible to admit it, but Sam was talking to him, and Dean had to make him understand. “I know you don’t feel the way I do.” Dean hated talking about feelings, but if that meant that Sam would just listen, and not keep shutting him out, then he’d do it.

“Shut the fuck up, dude. You’re my brother, my best friend, the most important person in my world,” Sam replied. “And I know that’s how you feel about me too.”

Dean nodded. “I can lose everything. Every fucking thing in the world, and I’ll be okay if I still have you.” He couldn’t have sounded more like a bad romance movie if he’d tried.

“How about we make a pact?” Sam suggested. It was quiet in the room, like a bubble of peace had formed around them.

Dean was prepared to do anything. “What sort of pact?” He wasn’t stupid though. Sam knew how his mind worked. 

“If one of us dies again, that’s it. We let it stand.” Sam watched him closely.

Dean bit his lip. “Okay, if I die, you can let it stand.” He hoped Sam would miss the implication.

“Dean,” Sam remonstrated. “I know you. What about when _I_ die? Will you let it stand?” It felt like the universe was holding its breath.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “I’ll let it stand.” He meant it. He’d keep his word. He’d let Sam die. Sam didn’t have to know that he’d kill himself a moment later. As long as Sam was alive somewhere in the world, Dean didn’t matter. If Sam was dead, nothing would really matter at all.

“Okay,” Sam nodded. “Do we need to shake on it?”

Dean shook his head. “No, I’ll stick to it,” he promised.

“In that case, you get the mattress tonight, jerk,” Sam’s smile was small, but real, for the first time in ages.

“Good thing I’m not the princess you are, bitch,” Dean snipped back. For that moment, they were okay.

**Fire in M'Eye Heart**

Stiles managed to escape the evil clutches of the hospital early the next morning. It had required a loud protestation of just how very okay he was for Mrs. M to release him into the safe arms of Derek Hale, Sourwolf Extraordinaire and Best Growly-Boo Ever.

It had really only needed one call to his dad, but Stiles preferred the drama.

Derek just folded his arms across his admittedly fine chest, watching the performance. Isaac and Erica had left as soon as Derek had arrived, yawning and hugging Stiles on the way out. 

“When you’re quite finished,” Derek said eventually. He ran a hand over Stiles’ head. He needed to touch and Stiles needed to be touched.

Stiles huffed a little. “I needed to express myself.” He’d been having fun.

“Express yourself at home.” Derek seemed unmoved. “In silence. Alone.”

“My arm hurts,” Stiles whined. He eyed the compulsory wheelchair and sat down. “Mush!” he commanded Derek, point his good arm in the direction of the parking lot.

“I can smell the drugs Melissa gave you.” Derek made a disgusted face. “You’re as high as a kite.”

“How high is a kite?” Stiles wondered, as Derek started wheeling him towards the exit. “Do kites get high?”

“They’re birds, Stiles.” Derek had the slightest smile in his voice. “Of course they get high.”

“Ooh,” Stiles craned his neck around to beam up at Derek. “You made a funny!”

“Shut up, Stiles.” Derek pushed him carefully toward the Camaro.

“Hello, Black Beauty,” Stiles crooned as he plastered his chest against the side of the car. “I love you.” He spread his arms, trying to hug the Camaro.

“Oh god,” Derek groaned. “You’re going to be impossible.”

“Pfft,” Stiles scoffed. He jiggled a little while Derek opened the door. “I’m made of awesome sauce, and you know it, baby! Plus, you love me more than the whole entire world!” 

Derek side-eyed him as he slid behind the wheel. “No more drugs,” he ordered.

“But, the pain,” Stiles objected, flopping back in the seat, cradling his arm.

“You’ll live.” Derek was a ruthless bastard, Stiles thought meanly. “If you carry on like this, I’ll kill you myself to put you out of _my_ misery.”

“You’re a terrible person,” Stiles grumbled. “But then, maybe it’s because you’re not actually a person. You’re like one of those lean, mean junkyard dogs that get chained up.” He stopped as he imagined Derek in chains. It was way too easy. Derek would look so pretty in chains, chest bare and sweaty.

“I’ve been in chains,” Derek reminded him. He looked murderous.

“Did I say that out loud?” Stiles bit his lip. “Oops.” He flinched at the angry glare Derek shot him. “I’m on drugs!” he was not going to die because Mrs. M gave him trippy shit.

“Your brain to mouth filter has never actually been engaged, has it?” Derek asked.

“I don’t think I was born with one,” Stiles admitted, nestling a little more into the seat. “I must have missed the genetic hand-out there.”

“Just my good luck to be mated to you then.” Derek seemed less angry. He grabbed Stiles’ good hand, putting it on his thigh.

“So, about this whole ‘trying to kill Stiles’ thing.” Stiles really wanted to figure out why he’d been targeted. And by who. Whom. Whatever.

“We’ll talk more when we get to your place.” Derek shut him down. “Your father sent me a text last night by the way. Apparently the Winchesters are staying at your house while they’re in town.” He didn’t look happy about it.

Stiles made a noise. It was almost a squeak. A very manly squeak. “Sam scares the living crap out of me,” he confessed.

Derek’s gaze shot to him. “Why? What did he do?” he demanded, eyes glowing red.

“Slow your roll, babe.” Stiles held up a hand. “He didn’t _do_ anything. Although he could have gutted Erica in a heartbeat if she had hurt his brother.”

“What happened?” Derek’s eyes still burned.

“Erica sort of threatened Dean when he questioned her awesome ability to protect me. Sam maybe took exception to it. Little bit.” Stiles shivered. “There is something not quite right about him.”

“Lydia said that she’s sent you an email with some information on the Winchesters.” Derek’s fingers were clamped tightly around the steering wheel. Stiles felt sympathy for the thing. The steering wheel was completely innocent.

“How come you’re all Chatty Cathy with everyone? That’s my job.” Stiles scowled. _He_ was pack researcher and provider of epic information. He’d itched to get his hands on his computer last night. Lydia had obviously jumped at the chance to show off. He scowled harder. 

“You were in hospital, Stiles.” Derek sounded as though he was literally on his last nerve. “There was nothing you could do while you were there. I told the pack to keep me updated with what they found.”

“So I’m completely replaceable then?” Stiles knew that he was starting his pain med crash. He was entitled to be a little whiny.

Derek stopped in the driveway of Stiles’ house, turned off the engine and looked at Stiles. “No one can replace you, Stiles. _No-one_.” His eyes were very intent, focused on Stiles’ face.

Stiles met his gaze, searching out a lie. But Derek’s eyes never wavered. He waited for Stiles to answer. “You mean it.” Stiles felt Derek’s truth like a weight on his soul. “Not just because we’re mated.”

“I seldom say anything I don’t mean, Stiles.” And Stiles knew that was true as well. Derek had always been stingy with his words, making them that much more powerful when he _did_ talk.

“Thanks,” Stiles whispered. “That means a lot.”

Derek pushed his car door open, coming quickly around to the passenger side to help Stiles out. “Don’t forget it,” Derek ordered. “You’re important to me.” He cleared his throat. “And the pack.”

Stiles allowed Derek to usher him towards his own front door, lost in thought. He stopped abruptly. “Wait a minute.” He spun around, which may not have been the smartest idea because well, drugs. Derek steadied him. “Did we just have a moment?” Stiles asked, poking Derek in the chest with his uninjured hand. “We just had a full-on feelings moment, didn’t we?”

Derek gave a little snort. “Shut up.” His ears were a little pink though.

Stiles felt too big for his skin, like lightning was shooting through his veins. These past few months were still like a dream to him. He often felt the need to pinch himself to make sure that this was real.

“Awesome!” Stiles did a mini fist-pump, wincing when he jarred his arm. “Ow.”

Derek shook his head, pushing Stiles back in the direction of the door. “You need to rest.”

“I rested all night,” Stiles protested. “In the middle of a wolfy sandwich.” He grinned at Derek’s eye-roll. “You know your puppies love me.”

“They’re not fucking puppies, Stiles. They’re beta werewolves, and very dangerous.” The door opened on Derek’s words. His dad stood there with his eyebrows raised.

“Something I should know about, boys?” he asked.

“Nope, nada, zip, zilch, zero..mmph.” Derek’s hand over his mouth stopped the verbal diarrhea.

“Stiles insists on calling the betas, puppies,” Derek explained. “I was reminding him that they’re not.”

Stiles licked Derek’s palm, and was gratified at the speed with which Derek pulled away. He grinned when Derek wiped his palm against his jeans. “Derek doesn’t like that the puppies prefer me to him,” he told his dad.

“Whatever Melissa gave you for the pain has obviously given you brain damage if you’re taunting your boyfriend,” his dad noted dryly, stepping aside to let them in.

Stiles stopped when he saw the Winchesters drinking coffee in the living room. “Hey.” He lifted his good arm in a tiny wave. 

“Hi.” Scary Sam smiled at him, looking way more relaxed than he had last night. It was like a shadow was gone from his eyes. “You feeling better?”

“Drugs are gooood.” Stiles nodded seriously. 

His dad sighed. “Sam, Dean, please meet the joy of my life, my son.”

Dean’s smile was like quicksilver, bright and beautiful, and gone in an instant. His eyes were hard though, never leaving Derek. Stiles stepped a little closer, angling his body in front of Derek.

“Stiles.” Derek sounded exasperated.

“Just making sure the hunters in the room remember that the werewolf is a good guy,” Stiles said, meeting Dean’s eyes. “He’s not the enemy.”

Sam touched Dean’s shoulder, and Stiles saw an instant relaxing of Dean’s body. There was something off there, something Stiles couldn’t quite put his finger on. But he would find out what it was. The Winchesters were a puzzle Stiles was suddenly desperate to solve.

“We’re not used to making nice with the monsters,” Dean admitted. He flushed. “Not that you’re a monster.” He looked at Derek. He rubbed the back of his neck, dropping his gaze. “Sorry.”

Stiles leaned into Derek, reassured by the heat of him. “Derek is my Alpha. He’s my dad’s Alpha. He’s kept this town safe at the expense of almost everything. He’s also my mate.” He felt Derek’s hands come to rest on his hips. “If you’re staying, you need to realize that _he’s_ the one who gives the orders around here.”

Dean’s mouth thinned. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

“Then leave,” his dad said. Stiles wanted to throw his arms around him. His dad was the absolute best when he wasn’t being the complete worst. “No one’s stopping you.” His face was like stone. “Derek is the Alpha here in Beacon Hills. He’s more human than any hunter I’ve met. Like Stiles said, we all follow his lead.”

Stiles turned a little to peer at Derek. Then he wished he hadn’t. Derek looked devastated. His eyes were glassy, and his face was pale. “Derek?” Stiles turned around completely. “What’s wrong, babe?”

Derek shook his head. “I…” he sounded broken. “Thank you,” Derek whispered to his dad. “You have no idea what that means to me.”

“You’re family, son, of course I know.” His dad’s eyes were a little shiny too as he smiled at Derek.

“Okay,” Sam broke into the odd little space that had formed between the three of them. “We’ll follow your lead.”

Dean looked like he wanted to protest, but didn’t say anything when Sam just leveled his gaze at him. “Fine,” Dean muttered.

“I need to get horizontal,” Stiles told the room as he swayed on his feet. 

Derek’s hands kept him upright. He took a look at the stairs. “You think you can make them?” he asked Stiles.

“Sure,” Stiles could hear the slur in his own voice. “I’ll just take it slowly.” He took a step and wobbled. “Uh…this might be harder than I thought,” he admitted.

Derek just picked him up, taking care not to jostle his arm. “Oh god,” Stiles moaned, closing his eyes. “I’m totally the Disney princess of Beacon Hills, aren’t I?”

Derek took the stairs quickly. “Should I call you Belle or Beauty?” he asked as he nudged Stiles’ room door open with his hip.

“Oh fuck you.” Stiles poked Derek’s chest with his good hand. “Asshole.”

Derek snickered as he set Stiles down on the bed. “Definitely Beauty,” he decided.

Stiles glared up at him. “So are you the handsome prince who gets to wake me up with a kiss?”

He wasn’t expecting Derek to lean down and brush his mouth gently across Stiles’. “Yeah,” Derek breathed against his lips.

Stiles was still sputtering in indignation when Derek left, closing his door quietly behind him. 

Derek was a complete dick.

**There is a L'Eye'ght That Never Goes Out**

Dean watched John pour another cup of coffee, and silently hand it to Derek when he came back down the stairs. Derek still looked a little shell-shocked.

“You okay?” John asked when Derek stayed silent.

“Yeah,” Derek looked at John. “Why do I get the feeling that Stiles being my mate is like the stupidest decision Fate has ever made?”

John smiled wryly. “We all make stupid decisions on a fairly regular basis. Maybe this is one of Fate’s?”

“Dean makes stupid decisions all the time,” Sam offered.

Dean scowled at him. “Only for the good of mankind,” he insisted.

“A lofty purpose indeed,” John drawled. Then he sobered. “What have you found out about who or what tried to kill Stiles?”

Derek took a seat at the kitchen counter, sipping his coffee. “Scott said that the scent was faint but it wasn’t human.” He took out his phone, dialing as he spoke. “But he said it wasn’t _not_ human, whatever the hell that means.”

Dean frowned. “So it’s human _and_ not human?” He looked over at Sam. “That doesn’t sound like anything we’ve hunted before. Usually it’s either or.”

Derek spoke into the phone, “Scott, can you wrangle the betas and get over to Stiles’ house as soon as possible?” He nodded at whatever Scott said. “Yeah, bring the humans.” He ended the call. “I think we need to figure this out together,” he explained.

“Peter’s coming too?” John asked with a grimace.

Derek seemed almost apologetic. “Yeah, but he’ll behave.” It sounded more threat than promise. Dean wondered who Peter was. 

Derek’s phone rang. “Lydia?” He stayed silent for a moment. “Stiles hasn’t looked at the file yet.” His gaze slid over to where Dean and Sam were sitting. “Scott’s on his way with the rest of the pack. Bring your laptop, we need to do some more research.” 

“I _did_ look at the file.” Stiles’ voice broke into the silence after Derek had finished talking. He was pale and shaky. Dean wasn’t sure who moved faster, the wolf or the sheriff, but they were both at his side so fast that Stiles barely moved.

“You should be in bed,” John remonstrated. “Why aren’t you?” They all moved into the living room where Stiles was helped to the sofa.

Stiles lifted his legs carefully so that he was lying stretched out on the sofa. Derek moved to his head, lifted it gently, and sat back down with Stiles’ head on his thighs. Dean blinked.

Dean looked over at Sam with raised eyebrows. Sam had the same expression on his face that Dean was sure he had. They were still wary about the level of comfort these humans had with the monsters.

“I decided that it was more important to find out about who was under our roof, than sleeping,” Stiles said, watching Sam and Dean. “Lydia’s file was interesting reading. If by ‘interesting’, I mean terrifying.”

“You checked up on us,” Dean said flatly. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Nothing about any of these kids was as it should be.

“Darn tootin’.” Stiles nodded. “Derek isn’t stupid about hunters. And when your reputation precedes you, well, you understand?”

“We get it,” Sam agreed. Dean wasn’t so sure. He had a feeling that this kid with his huge amber eyes and smart mouth was the most dangerous of them all. And that included the alpha wolf who was watching him with an intensity that was almost painful to see.

“So you’ve been declared legally dead exactly how many times?” Stiles asked. Dean watched Stiles nudge Derek’s hand. The alpha put a big hand on his head, stroking gently.

“A few,” Sam admitted. He was being way too honest, Dean thought. “But mostly to avoid being arrested or shot on sight.”

“That’s not exactly comforting,” John told them.

“We’ve dealt with Armageddon levels of shit over the past few years,” Dean said, going with the open cards policy that Sam had apparently adopted. “Some of the demons we’ve killed wore skin-suits.” He shrugged. “Most of the people they possessed were already dead, but when we ganked the demons, well, then the bodies started piling up.”

“You’ve killed demons?” Derek asked. He’d stopped moving at the first mention of demons.

“Too many to count,” Sam admitted. “It’s been a rough couple of years.”

Dean snorted. “Understatement of the millennium,” he said. “To be honest, we were sort of looking forward to a simple monster hunt when we got the call about Beacon Hills.” He felt like he was admitting a weakness to everyone but fuck’s sake, they needed some serious downtime.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Derek drawled. Dean was starting to like the sarcastic fucker. Dammit. He was getting soft just like Sam now. The last monster he’d liked, he’d had to behead. It still hurt to remember Benny.

“Eh.” Dean shrugged. “I’m sure whatever it is that we _are_ hunting now will be just as much fun.”

“Your definition of fun is scary.” Stiles yawned around the words. He turned his head so that his face was pressed against Derek’s stomach. “Are the puppies on the way?” His eyes were already closing.

“How did you..?” Derek stared down at him. Dean saw fondness, exasperation, and something that looked a lot like love in his face. “And stop calling them puppies, for god’s sake.”

“I know you, Sourwolf,” Stiles mumbled. “Wake me when they get here.”

Dean met Derek’s gaze. “Puppies, huh?” he tried not to grin when he saw Derek’s disgruntled face. “I take back calling you a monster. Dude, you are so whipped.”

Derek gave a silent snarl, obviously not wanting to wake the kid. Dean just laughed. 

“This town just keeps getting stranger,” Sam said, shaking his head with a smile at Dean. 

That smile hit Dean in the chest like a bullet. It hurt so fucking much to think that he’d almost lost this. He was under no illusion that if things had carried on the way they had, he and Sam would either have killed each other or parted ways. Which would have been as good as dead to Dean. 

He would do whatever it took to keep Sam smiling at him with those stupidly pretty eyes. He froze. Oh god. He was so very fucked.

“Dean?” Sam must have sensed Dean’s sheer gut-busting terror. “What’s wrong?” Genuine concern laced his voice.

Dean had to get out of there. “I’m just going to take a walk around the neighborhood. Get some air,” he said, leaping to his feet. “Give me a call when the rest of the gang get here, okay?” Sam’s confused expression haunted him as he fled the Stilinski home.

Dean stood outside in the warm morning sun, lifting his face to the light. He tried to steady his breathing, but his heart was beating so hard he could actually hear it. 

Just when in his crazy, fucked-up life, had he fallen in love with his brother?

**I Had Too Much To Dream Last N'Eye'ght**

Stiles woke up when Scott and Isaac bounded in. Puppies, he thought, watching them bump against each other. The sofa felt a little harder that he was used to. And warmer. And it moved!

He sat up in alarm, ready to vanquish the possessed furniture, and was pushed back down by a big hand. His sigh of relief was audible. “Oh, thank god,” he breathed. “I thought the sofa was alive.” He looked up into Derek’s eyes. “Hey.”

“You are so weird,” Derek said, but he was smiling.

“Dude!” Scott hurtled over to the sofa, skidding to a halt when Derek gave a low growl. “Uh…”

“Hey!” Stiles greeted brightly, trying to sit up again. He stopped moving when Derek’s growl ratcheted up in volume. “So, I’m guessing the little known Derek-thigh pillow is not negotiable for me right now?”

“You’re healing,” Derek told him. “Stay put.”

Stiles sighed audibly, but he was secretly doing the Macarena in glee. Derek was getting more and more comfortable with being all touchy-feely in front of others. Now to deal with whoever was trying to kill him, so that he could get back to the business of getting freaky with his Alpha.

Scott and Isaac stared down at him. “What did you find out?” Stiles needed all the information before he could start working on the solution.

“I told Derek,” Scott said, glaring at Derek as though it was all entirely his fault that Stiles wasn’t up to speed yet. 

“Tell _me_ ,” Stiles interrupted him. 

Scott puffed out an annoyed breath. “Like I told Derek, Boyd and I picked up a scent by the bear trap. It wasn’t human, but it wasn’t _not_ human.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense, dude.” Stiles frowned. He shoved at Derek’s hand. “I need to sit up,” he stated. Derek finally let him sit up slowly, hands hovering. “You know I’m not actually a girl, right?” Stiles glared at Derek. 

The door banged open once more. This time Erica and Boyd came thundering in, bad attitudes trailing behind them like thunderclouds. Ith flew in with them. Stiles watched Sam’s eye grow huge. 

“What the fuck?” Sam whispered.

“Sam, meet Ith the Dark One of House Stilinski.” Stiles waved a hand at Ith.

“That’s a gryphon.” Sam knew his mythical beasts, Stiles acknowledged.

“Yup.” Stiles smiled when Ith settled on his lap, rumbling a little. “He’s only a couple of days old, but he’s pretty awesome.”

“I’m awesome.” Ith didn’t even try to hide his satisfaction. “I killed more rabbits than your wolves.” His eyes were bright as he needled Derek.

“It’s a talking gryphon,” Sam stated needlessly.

“Two for two, big guy.” Stiles stroked his good hand over Ith’s soft head. “We’re still getting him used to the idea of becoming a vegetarian.”

Ith gave an inelegant little snort. “Gryphon’s eat meat,” he announced.

“Dean is going to shit himself.” Sam looked like he wanted to step forward and stroke Ith himself. Fortunately for the safety of his fingers, he didn’t.

Erica curled her lip at him. “So hunter, where _is_ your pretty brother?”

Stiles watched when Sam’s eyes flicked up to meet Erica’s. He didn’t blink. Either this dude was made of steel, or he’d seen shit that made werewolves look like actual puppies. “Dean’s around,” Sam said, voice even.

“He’s left you all alone with the big bad wolves?” Erica’s smile was pure evil. Stiles had learned to fear it.

“He knows I can take care of myself.” Sam didn’t flinch at the threat implied in her tone.

“Erica.” Derek wielded her name like a warning, the Alpha voice making her shrink back a little, baring her throat in submission. “They have agreed to be our allies with the threat to the pack.”

“To me,” Stiles corrected him. This was important. _He_ had been the one targeted by the non-human, human thing-person. Everyone needed to remember this. “The mysterious whozits are trying to kill _me_.”

Derek cocked an eyebrow. “Whozits?” He stood up, still hovering a little and being generally loom-y. Ith made a disgruntled noise at being jostled.

Stiles waved a hand dismissively. “Not human, not animal, not mineral, not werewolf. Therefore, _whozits_.” He was quite proud of his steady voice. 

Something must have given him away though because Derek’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?” he asked, keeping his voice low, as though every wolf in the vicinity wasn’t eavesdropping.

“I’m fine.” Stiles watched his dad come closer, face worried. “Seriously, Dad, I’m okay, just maybe a little tired.”

“You should have stayed in bed,” his dad said, mouth a firm line.

“I’m needed here,” Stiles insisted. 

“You need to get better.” Ith kneaded Stiles’ thigh gently. It felt nice.

Just then the door opened again, and the other love of Stiles’ life strolled in on lethal heels. Jackson slinked in after Lydia, looking disgruntled at being ordered to come over. 

They were followed by Allison and Chris Argent, alert and wary as soon as they spotted Sam. “Winchester?” Chris asked, keeping his back to the door.

“Yes.” Sam stepped forward, holding out his hand. The low growl from Erica made the hair stand up on the back of Stiles’ neck. Sam stopped. “Sam Winchester.” He nodded at Chris.

“If I know my hunter families, and I do, you Winchesters usually come in twos,” Chris said, eyes darting around the living room.

“We do.” Dean’s voice made everyone jump. Stiles realized that even the wolves hadn’t heard him come in through the kitchen. 

The Winchesters were fucking terrifying. He met his dad’s gaze and saw the cop staring back at him. John Stilinski hadn’t underestimated the Winchesters. It was probably why he’d invited them to stay in the first place. His dad was beyond cool.

“How did you do that?” Allison asked, all hunter as she assessed the way Dean moved.

“Can’t tell you all my secrets, sweetheart,” Dean drawled, strolling over to his brother. 

Stiles watched them talk to each other without saying a word. An entire conversation took place in a couple of seconds. It was just like him and Scott, only with less eyebrows.

Dean turned to face the rest of the room, shoulder brushing against Sam’s. He stopped dead when he saw Ith. “What the fuck?”

Sam said, “Meet Ith the Dark One.” He looked at Stiles. “I got that right, didn’t I?”

Guessing that the Winchesters had seen shit they couldn’t even imagine, was the only reason Stiles reckoned they weren’t freaking out. “Yeah,” he said.

“Of House Stilinski,” Ith added. That made Dean startle a little.

“Huh. A talking gryphon. Whaddaya know.” Dean nodded once, and then looked squarely at Scott. “So, talk to me about our unidentifiable enemy,” he ordered. Stiles thought that maybe he wasn’t so much ignoring the gryphon in the room, as dealing with the immediate problem at hand.

Scott’s eyes flashed gold. “You’re not my Alpha,” he said. Stiles could hear the man his best friend was becoming. “I don’t answer to you.”

Derek stepped between Scott and the Winchesters. “We need to work together,” he said, voice low as he looked at Scott. “I’m mostly okay with knowing they’re on our side in this situation.” 

The unhappy line of his shoulders told Stiles volumes though. Derek wasn’t comfortable letting anyone in, let alone a couple of hunters with the reputation of shooting first and not ever actually asking questions. 

Scott frowned. “You trust them?”

Stiles held his breath. Derek’s answer would set the tone for the rest of this hunt. 

Derek’s eyes slid over to where Sam and Dean stood. They looked completely relaxed, but Stiles knew that was a lie. “I can’t say that we have reached any sort of level of trust,” Derek admitted, raising an eyebrow and Dean nodded his agreement. “But we need them.”

“We’ve always been able to handle things ourselves.” Erica’s hostility was a living thing in the room.

“They came here wanting to kill us,” Boyd reminded Derek.

Stiles wanted to scream. This was going bad very quickly.

“They didn’t,” Stiles pointed out. And they could have.

“And that begs the question, why not?” Chris Argent’s eyes were icy-cold. Stiles reminded himself that the Argents and the Winchesters were cut from the same cloth, despite the depth of Allison’s dimples.

“Because we found out that we’d been lied to,” Sam said. His face showed nothing, voice gave nothing away. 

“I can smell the truth on them,” Ith said. Derek nodded. 

“Who told you to come to Beacon Hills?” Chris asked, moving further into the room, still keeping the front door behind him.

“We didn’t get a name,” Dean said pleasantly enough. Stiles could tell that he didn’t like being questioned.

“And you didn’t think that was odd?” Chris probed.

Dean shrugged. “Sometimes the snitch keeps their identity a secret because they’re afraid of the consequences.”

“But this ‘snitch’ made sure you came here,” Stiles persisted.

“Whoever it was, wanted the wolves taken out.” Sam nodded. 

“Leaving the human pack members vulnerable.” Chris blew out a breath, shoulders relaxing the smallest increment.

“Guess they don’t know our humans.” Scott’s smile was proud as he looked at Stiles. “Not a weak or defenseless one among them.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow. “That sounds interesting.” He sounded doubtful.

Stiles closed his eyes and, on impulse, gave his spark free reign. 

Down into blood and bone he plunged, scything through soul and heart. The depth of sorrow he touched in the depths of Dean Winchester made him reel. 

He pulled out with a gasp, shuddering as he stared at Dean in horror. “Oh my god, how do you live with that inside you?” he breathed. Ith was breathing as hard as Stiles was. 

Dean’s face was pale and shaken. “What the fuck did you do?” he demanded. Sam moved in front of Dean, knife out, and eyes like ice. Derek was in front of Stiles instantly, claws out and on the verge of wolfing out completely.

“I just thought I’d give you a taste of why nobody fucks with the Hale pack,” Stiles said, making sure his eyes stayed fixed on Sam. “Maybe I should have given you a little warning.” He knew deep down in his gut that Sam Winchester was the truly dangerous one.

Stiles put a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Stand down,” he murmured, low and careful, as though Derek was a second away from Armageddoning the Winchesters. He was maybe a little right. 

Derek moved to sit next to Stiles, allowing him to wrap his fingers around Derek’s wrist.

“I had to make them understand.” Stiles looked away from Sam then, meeting Derek’s stained-glass gaze. “Don’t you see, Derek? No matter what they say to our faces, deep down they still think we’re monsters.”  


**Shadow in M'Eye Eyes**

Dean tried hard to get his breathing back under control. He dropped his forehead to rest between Sam’s shoulder blades, secure in the knowledge that Sammy wouldn’t let anything get to him.

“You okay there, man?” Sam asked the question without removing his gaze from Stiles. 

Dean nodded against the heat of Sam’s back. “Gimme a moment,” he said.

“What the fuck was that?” Sam demanded. Dean knew that his scary baby brother only got really pissed off if someone messed with Dean. Even though lately, it felt as though Sam was just as ready to abandon him. 

“Stiles has…” Derek hesitated. 

“Magic,” Lydia said baldly. Dean lifted his head to look at her. She looked like every other vapid cheerleader type he’d ever met. Until you looked into her eyes. They were utterly cold. Utterly ruthless. Dean totally believed in that old adage of the female of the species.

“You’re a witch?” Sam asked. 

“Man.” Dean stepped out from behind Sam’s tall shadow. “I hate fucking witches.”

Stiles snorted. “A – not fucking. B – not a witch.” Dean wanted to laugh but managed to control it. _So_ not the right time.

Dean looked at Stiles. Took his time, ignoring the pale skin and pretty mouth. The fact that Stiles had mated with an alpha werewolf and had somehow bonded with a creature that shouldn’t exist hadn’t escaped him. He could see something there, something not entirely human, lurking behind those deep amber eyes.

“What are you then?” Sam asked, his entire body a tense line of anger. 

Dean put a hand on the back of Sam’s neck, bringing his attention around. “Stay cool, Sammy,” he urged.

“He fucking mind-raped you, Dean!” Sam spat, mouth thin and white.

“No he didn’t,” Dean assured him. Sometimes he felt as though he was holding the end of the leash of a violently rabid dog.

“No I didn’t,” Stiles said at the same time.

Dean turned his gaze back to the kid. “How did you do that?” he asked softly, stepping away from Sam, towards Stiles. He stopped abruptly at the hand on his shoulder. Sam wasn’t about to let him go.

“I’m called a spark,” Stiles explained, slumping back against the sofa. Derek was apparently not about to move either. He glared up at Dean from his position beside the kid. They were touching at several points, completely relaxed in each other’s space. The gryphon had settled on Stiles again, feathers and fur still a little ruffled.

“A spark?” Sam asked, fingers slowly unclenching from around the hilt of the demon blade. He didn’t let Dean move though.

“It’s natural magic.” Stiles was listing to the side, and Derek scooped him closer, acting as a bulwark. Ith just adjusted his seat so that he remained snugged in on Stiles’ lap. This entire shit-fest felt like a particularly trippy fall down the rabbit hole.

He met Sam’s eyes. “You ever heard of natural magic, Sammy?” he asked.

Sam shook his head. “There’s nothing natural about magic.” Dean could see the self-hate rise in Sam’s eyes. Dean was _not_ going to let it take hold again. Sam had enough shit rattling around in his brain. Blaming himself for the world going to hell in a hand basket wasn’t something Dean was going to allow any more.

“And so far you’ve been completely right about everything you know about werewolves,” John said dryly into the silence.

Dean flinched. They weren’t exactly hitting home runs in this little town. “Yeah,” he said. “However, I would say about ninety percent of the time when we’ve used or encountered magic, it’s had to do with demons and dark shit.”

Stiles stared at him with flat eyes. “You’ve definitely been hanging around the wrong crowd.”

Dean met his gaze and felt that slick ooze of magic once more around his soul. He shuddered. “Still not convinced, but you’ve all been more chilled about us being here than we have any right to expect, so I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, kid.”

Derek’s lip lifted in a quick snarl. “He’s not a kid,” he shot at Dean. “None of them are, not after the crap they’ve been through.” 

Dean watched Stiles’ gaze flick to Derek in surprise, and then a shit-eating grin crossed that expressive face. “Aw, Der-Bear, you love me, you really love me.” The brat rubbed his cheek against Derek’s shoulder, pressing his nose into the Alpha’s neck. 

There was so much wrong about the action. It went against everything they had been taught about werewolves, but Dean couldn’t argue with the fact that this human-werewolf hybrid pack seemed to work on a level that he and Sam had never seen.

Dean watched Stiles lift his face to stare up at Derek. Something hungry and feral looked out from behind his eyes. It made Dean squirm.

“This place is seriously fucked up,” Sam said under his breath, which – werewolves - so useless.

“It’s different alright,” Dean agreed, cautiously sitting down in the chair facing the sofa. Sam sat on the arm, keeping close to Dean. Dean hid a smile behind his hand. Sammy wasn’t letting their personal shit get in the way of taking care of each other.

“So, to recap.” Lydia, the hard-eyed redhead spoke briskly, “There is something in the preserve that wants the werewolves dead, and Stiles too, for some reason.” Her mouth twisted in a smirk. “Maybe it wants you as its bride?”

Stiles stuck his tongue out at her, secure against the warmth of the Alpha. Dean could see that he wasn’t worried about any intended malice. “You had your chance, Martin.” He pointed a finger at her. “I’m not yours to toy with anymore.”

“One click of my fingers, Stilinski.” Lydia smirked at him. 

Stiles snorted and snuggled in closer to Derek. “My growly dude over here might object.”

“I can handle him.’ Lydia raised one perfect eyebrow. 

“Lydia, my titian-haired goddess; do stop teasing the boys.” The lilting voice from the door made every single hair on Dean’s body stand up. Both he and Sam were up in a heartbeat. For the first time since they’d arrived here, Dean felt the possibility of true danger. 

“Ew, stop it, Peter.” Lydia wrinkled her nose, glaring at the newcomer. “It wasn’t sexy when I was in high school, and it’s not sexy now.”

Jackson, the pretty boy werewolf, growled low and vicious as the owner of the voice stepped into the room. Ith stood up on Stiles’ lap and hissed.

“Always need to make an entrance, don’t you?” Argent shook his head. Dean saw that Argent’s hand was on his holster and Allison had edged a little closer to Scott.

He looked up at Sam with raised eyebrows. Sam shrugged but kept his hand close to the knife. Whoever this was, he was on Sam’s radar and that meant he was not a friend.

“Introduce me.” Peter was about the same age as the sheriff & Argent, but there was definitely something ‘other’ about him. Dean watched how the rest of the pack tensed up, changing the atmosphere in the room.

“Dean Winchester.” Dean stood up. “This is my brother Sam.”

“Ah, I’ve heard of the Winchesters.” Peter’s smile was as empty as his eyes. “You’ve killed many of my kind.” 

Dean stepped back and stopped only when he felt the secure heat of Sam’s presence at his back. This dude gave him the heebie jeebies. “We’ve never put down a wolf that hadn’t killed a human.” He kept his voice flat and steady. Never show them fear.

“I’m sure you asked them all their history before you gunned them down,” Peter agreed pleasantly. The low growl of warning from the Alpha made him stop advancing. “You’re getting into bed with the Winchesters, Derek?” Peter looked over at Hale, mouth thin. “Your mother would be so proud.”

“Don’t you fucking dare try that emotional blackmail shit on me, _uncle_.” Derek’s voice was a hard hiss of rage. “You don’t get to judge one single thing I do. You lost that right a very long time ago.”

Peter snarled silently at Derek, eyes flashing blue. Derek’s growl set Dean’s bones vibrating. It made him yearn to roll over and beg and promise never to disobey Derek ever again.

“What the fuck?” he breathed, spinning to look at Sam. “They cast a spell or some shit on me, man.”

Sam grabbed Dean and hauled him out of the living room, pushed him against the hallway wall. “Look at me, Dean,” he demanded, one huge hand on Dean’s face, grasping his chin, forcing Dean to meet his eyes. “Dean?”

Dean froze. He sometimes forgot just how fucking huge Sam was. Right now, surrounded by him, Dean felt tiny. He wanted to shove him away, tell him he was fine, but the concern in Sam’s eyes made him shudder. “It felt like Derek owned me,” he admitted in a rough whisper. “I wanted to drop to the ground and belly-up for him.”

Sam’s mouth went hard. “Somebody must have fucked with something you ate or drank,” he muttered. In that moment his eyes bled black. Dean went ice-cold.

“Sammy?” he leaned forward into Sam’s hand so that his face was almost touching Sam’s neck. Over the years, since Ruby and the royal fuck-up she’d made of Sam, Dean had learned that the only way to beat back the blood, was with blood. His.

“I’m going to fucking end them all.” Sam’s voice was a tsunami in the sudden quiet of the house. “Lay waste to this fucking pissant town and the assholes who think they have the right to touch you in any way.” Sam didn’t speak loudly, but Dean knew that every single person in the house in the house heard his terrible wrath.

“I’m okay,” Dean assured him, bringing his hands up and putting them on either side of Sam’s neck, skin touching skin. Dean hated the feel of Sam’s skin when he went like this. It felt too much like snakeskin, cool and smooth and waxy. “Sammy, pull back, dude. You need to get hold of yourself.”

He met Sam’s gaze and the sliver of white around the black heralded Armageddon. “Nobody takes your will from you,” Sam hissed into the silence, and it echoed through the air. “They need to answer for their actions.”

Lucifer had fucked Sam over ten ways from Sunday, and this residual demon attitude was by far the worst for Dean to deal with. It hadn’t happened in a while, so Dean had convinced himself that Sam was doing okay. 

Of course Dean had fucked it all up with the bullshit with Ezekiel or Gadreel, whatever the fuck the asshole’s name was, and Sam’s even keel had wobbled and tipped over. Dean was never going to forgive himself for the damage he’d done.

“Hey, dude, Sammy, focus, okay?” he urged Sam to look at him, never letting him move his gaze away. Dean was the only one who was safe in the world right now. He really didn’t need any more deaths on his conscience. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice filtered through, confused and a little scared. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Come back to me, Sammy,” Dean whispered, staring into Sam’s eyes, keenly watching as the white slid away and the black faded to grey. 

Sam’s kaleidoscope eyes cleared, and he blinked. “Blood rush?” he asked Dean.

“Yeah.” Dean knew his smile was small, wrong. “But you fought it off, man. You did good.”

Sam flinched. “Did I hurt…?” he looked around suddenly.

Dean forced his attention back on him. “Nobody got hurt.”

“Thank god.” Sam’s shoulders eased with relief, and he slumped against Dean, face shoving against his neck. “I’m so fucking sorry, Dean.” His voice was muffled and thick with sorrow.

Dean’s arms went around him automatically. He’d been hugging Sam’ for as long as he could remember and, even though Sam had grown up, widened out, he’d always felt right in Dean’s arms. “You were just worried about me, man. You didn’t do anything you need to be sorry about.”

Sam nodded into Dean’s skin. “Tired,” he murmured.

Dean wanted to let Sam sleep, but there was still too much they didn’t know. He reluctantly pushed Sam away. “We need to get back in there and figure this shit out,” he reminded Sam.

Sam kept his head down, stupid hair hiding his expression from Dean. That wasn’t going to ever be okay. He needed Sam to snap out of any pity-mode.

Dean shoved a hand into the hair at the nape of Sam’s neck and pulled his head up. “You need to get your shit together, Sammy. We need to work out why we’re here and who the fuck made sure we came to Beacon Hills.”

Sam nodded, not moving from Dean’s grasp. “Yeah,” he snarled. “Let’s help the people who just tried to mind-whammy you.” He stood up straight, staying within the circle of Dean’s arms. 

Sam looked furious again, and the skin on his cheekbones flushed red as his eyes glittered. He was so very beautiful and precious. Dean wanted to pull him in and bruise that pretty mouth in ways that were entirely inappropriate for a big brother.

Dean slowly let Sam go, soft, slick strands of hair clinging to his fingers. He took a couple of careful steps back. He had to stop thinking about Sam like this. It wasn’t going to end well for either of them if Dean couldn’t switch off whatever the fuck was going on. He stopped. Maybe whatever had made him want to submit to the Alpha was what had made him want to fuck Sam through the mattress.

Dean groaned. His dick felt hard enough to knock him out. His life seemed to be just one long wave of ‘Fuck You, Dean Winchester’. He was getting a little tired of it.  


**I Saw M'Eye Death in a Dream Last N'Eye'ght**

Stiles blinked when Sam and Dean vanished out of the living room. He looked at Derek who seemed just as confused. “So, that was a nice big bowl of _what the fuck_?” Stiles addressed the room in general.

 **“I’m going to fucking end them all.”** Derek froze at the sound of Sam Winchester’s voice coming from the hallway. Stiles didn’t understand why it felt as though every molecule in his body was shaking apart.

“Holy fucking, shit.” Stiles had the feeling that there was something else sharing Sam’s body right then, because that voice wasn’t human. Ith was up in the air, shrieking a heartbeat later.

 **“Lay waste to this fucking pissant town and the assholes who think they have the right to touch you in any way.”** Sam sounded like death and annihilation. Stiles could taste the iron-sharp tang of blood in the back of his throat.

He looked over at Derek who was staring at his wolves in horror. Scott, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Jackson and Peter were all writhing on the floor, blood as black as oil oozing from their noses and mouths. Derek was moving towards them before Stiles could utter a word.

Stiles jumped to his feet then, ignoring the residual pain that clutched at him. He shook off his dad’s restraining hand, heading to where Dean and Sam had vanished. He waved a hand at Ith when it looked like he was going to follow him. “Wait here.” He didn’t know what he was going to find. He didn’t want anyone getting hurt. More hurt.

Something broke inside Stiles when he saw the Winchesters. Surly, sarcastic Dean was holding on to Sam as though he was terrified he’d be snatched away from him any second. Sam clung to Dean like the only stable thing in a fucked-up world.

“Come back to me, Sammy,” Dean whispered. It was so tender, so intimate that Stiles had to step back, step away, because this was private, and he had no business looking on.

When he went back into the sitting room, Derek was crouched next to the betas, touching them and murmuring softly. It was the gentlest he’d ever seen Derek. The betas appeared to have stopped bleeding but were visibly shaken. Even the normally urbane Peter was breathing deeply, white-faced with shock. Lydia had Jackson’s head in her lap, heedless of the black ooze messing up her perfect outfit.

Ith hovered in the air, obviously unsure about what was happening. He relaxed when he saw Stiles, dropping to the sofa with a small cry. 

“What’s going on out there?” Stiles turned to look at his dad. Chris and Allison seemed unsure as to what they should be doing. 

“I’m not sure,” Stiles admitted. “But there’s something not quite right about the Winchesters.”

“Dangerous?” Chris asked, his eyes narrow.

Stiles nodded. “Fuck yes.” He looked apologetically at his dad. “Sorry, but this is one of those ‘give profanity free reign’ moments, Dad.” He let his gaze drift back to the hallway. “Sam Winchester is more dangerous than any human or non-human, I’ve ever seen.” 

Ith was immediately on full alert again. Stiles reached down to stroke him, calming him in the only way he knew how. He tried to calm his own crazily thumping heart at the same time.

“How do you know?” Derek stood up, walking over to him. “How can you tell?”

Stiles met his eyes. “You remember when I let my spark out to go and play around in Dean?” Derek nodded. “I actually aimed it at Sam first. My magic refused to touch him in any way.” Stiles felt the cold fingers of terror play an eerie arpeggio down his spine. “Sam Winchester is a giant black hole of ‘Don’t Step on the Grass’.”

“Then they need to leave.” Chris sounded completely sure. Stiles was momentarily gratified by the easy acceptance of his assessment.

“No. We can’t leave yet.” Dean’s voice made them all turn. He sounded ragged, voice gone hoarse as though he’d been screaming for days. Stiles wasn’t sure that he was far wrong.

“We can’t have you here if you’re going to put the pack at risk,” Stiles’ dad stood shoulder to shoulder with Chris. Stiles felt very proud of him, especially considering the sleazy amount of conniving that these two, along with Peter, had going on over Melissa McCall. 

Abort! Abort! Stiles had to remind his brain that thinking about that made insanity look comforting. 

“We are probably the best bet you have of surviving whatever is going on.” Dean’s eyes looked bruised. Sam had come up behind him. He looked even worse than his brother.

“You don’t look too good, man,” Stiles told Sam, venturing a small smile. “Not sure how much good you’d be to us.”

Sam met his gaze and Stiles took an involuntary step backwards. Scary did not even begin to describe the dude. “I’m fine,” Sam said, blatantly lying. Stiles was not going to be the one to call him on it though.

“You’re lying.” Derek didn’t a problem with it. He shoved Stiles behind him, lethal grace and deadly teeth. 

Ith screeched his own accusation. “Lies! The Winchester lies!”

“Fine. Yes, I’m not okay yet,” Sam admitted, surprising Stiles with his honesty. Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder when it looked like he was going to object. “But, I will be.”

“How can we trust you?” Derek asked, all Alpha. Stiles wanted to climb him like a tree. He would probably be embarrassed later about his inappropriate boner. And that Derek could likely smell his arousal. Right now, he wanted to sink his teeth into the meat of Derek’s shoulder and rut against him. The epic side-eye Derek gave him told him he wasn’t being subtle. 

“Because I give you my word,” Sam said. Something spun and clicked deep inside Stiles. His spark burst out of him, flinging itself at Sam, suddenly out of control.

Stiles went to the ground at the overwhelming cascade of sorrow, regret and guilt that hit him. He barely registered Derek grabbing his arm. 

He lay on the floor of his sitting room and shook at the emotions that punched through him like bullets. This guy shouldn’t even be walking, let alone functioning.

“Stiles!” Derek sounded frantic. Ith’s wings beat an erratic wind in Stiles’ face as he stared up at his wolf and his gryphon.

“I’m okay,” Stiles croaked, every muscle aching once more. He’d obviously fucked up whatever was healing. Derek helped him to sit up, hovering along with his dad and Ith.

Dean offered a hand. “So, I’m guessing that Sam’s head is a fucked-up place?” His mouth curved in a smile, but his eyes were bleak. He exchanged a glance with Sam that spoke volumes.

“It’s not a mind-reading thing,” Stiles told him as he hobbled back to the sofa. He waved at Derek. “Go sort out the puppies, I’m good.” Ith clambered up into his lap once more, kneading at him in a gesture that was both comfort and concern.

Derek appeared unconvinced but headed back over to the beta pile nevertheless. Derek’s immediate response spoke volumes to the level of trust they’d built up.

“What did you see?” Sam sounded terrified. 

Stiles stared at him. “You really don’t know the damage inside you?” he asked.

Sam’s face went even paler. Dean moved towards his brother, gripping his shoulder tightly. “Sammy?”

“What did you see?” Sam asked again, shaking Dean off, and coming to crouch down in front of Stiles. “Please, tell me.” Dean followed, crowding up against Sam’s back, not allowing any distance between them. The Winchesters gave off very weird vibes, Stiles thought. They behaved more like a couple than like brothers. 

Stiles forced his gaze to meet Sam’s. He just couldn’t resist the desperate plea in Sam’s voice, in his eyes. He leaned forward, placing a careful hand against Sam’s cheek. “Look,” he whispered, and opened up, allowing Sam to see what his spark had shown him.

The staggering sadness hit Sam first, making him suck in a gasp. Then, the regret, Dean first and foremost among the things that Sam wished he’d handled differently. Stiles heard Sam moan. Last, the mountains of guilt that seemed to grow as he watched.

“Holy fuck,” Dean breathed eyes glassy and wide.

Stiles realized that somehow, Dean had seen what he’d shown Sam. He pulled back, eased his spark back from beneath Sam’s skin. He petted Ith, who’d stayed on him, and lay against the sofa, exhausted. “You two need to talk more,” he muttered.

Sam’s eyes were closed, fists clenched and mouth tight. Stiles thought he might be struggling not to cry. God knows, if he were Sam, he’d be weeping all the fucking time.

“Oh my god, Sammy.” Dean forced Sam around, coming to his knees in front of him. “You know that shit’s not true. Whatever happened, it’s done, it’s over. I don’t blame you. I never blamed you.”

“You left me a voice message.” Sam’s whisper was barely audible.

“I left you a…” Dean sounded as confused as he looked. “What fucking voice message?”

Stiles cleared his throat. The Winchesters turned to look at him in eerie synchronization. “Er, maybe you should consider taking this somewhere else,” he suggested. “This sounds sort of… a conversation you should be having in private?”

Sam shook visibly now, fine tremors running up and down his body. Dean didn’t look much better. “Yeah,” Dean said, hauling Sam to his feet. “I think you’re right.”

“Don’t stay in the house,” Stiles told them. Dean raised an eyebrow in enquiry. “Werewolf hearing,” Stiles explained.

Dean nodded. “Thanks.” He pulled Sam after him as he headed for the door. “We’ll be back.”

“Don’t hurry,” Scott said, wiping his nose. He looked rough. They all did. “I’m sure we’ll manage without you.”

“Scott.” Derek kept his voice low, but even Stiles knew he meant business.

The door closed behind Sam and Dean. There was a beat and then, “Just what the fucking fuck was that shit?” Jackson demanded.

**Eye'd Rather Have a Memory Than a Dream**

Dean didn’t stop once they’d left the porch of the Stilinski house. He shoved Sam into the passenger seat and floored the Impala as soon as he closed her door.

Sam was a sack of misery sitting next to him. Nothing of the scary-as-shit motherfucker who’d, moments before, threatened to lay waste to Beacon Hills because someone had dared to mess with Dean.

“What voice message?” Dean demanded, continuing the conversation as though it had never stopped.

Sam shook his head. “Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled, staring out of the window. “It’s ancient history.”

The sound Dean made wasn’t pretty. “Obviously not so ancient if it’s eating at you like this, Sammy.” He turned onto a road leading towards the preserve. Reckoning they were far enough that the wolves couldn’t hear them, Dean pulled over and turned Baby’s engine off. “Talk to me.”

It wasn’t an order. It was a plea. Something he’d done, something he’d said, had made Sam shake like the proverbial leaf and Dean needed to know what and why. And how to fucking fix it.

“Forget it.” Sam leaned back, closing his eyes. “It’s not important.”

“Dude.” Dean fixed a patented big brother glare on him. 

Sam lifted one shoulder. “It was back when I was with…” he stopped and rubbed at his face. “When I was drinking demon blood and fucking Ruby.”

Dean winced. He couldn’t remember how many times he’d wished he could kill that bitch just one more time. And then over and over again. “I don’t remember a voice message…” he began. 

A vague memory of him leaving a message, telling Sam that he was sorry for saying shit to Sam, about calling him out on the Ruby crap, hit him. “Yeah, I told you that you were still due an ass-whipping for Ruby and that bullshit.” He stared at Sam. “That was years ago, man.”

Sam shook his head. “No.”

“No, what?” Dean asked.

Sam met his gaze. “You said, _“Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam -- a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back”_.” He obviously spoke from memory.

Dean felt sick. “I never said any shit like that to you, Sammy.” Sam looked away. “I _never_ would use Dad as a weapon. You hear me?”

Sam lifted one shoulder. “I know what I heard.”

“You have it fucking memorized,” Dean spat. “You think I don’t know that’s what you heard?” He wanted to reach back through time and space and gut Ruby and Lilith. “You really believe I would ever say something like that to you?”

“You called me a monster before,” Sam said.

Dean shook his head. “I never….”

“Before.” Sam pushed the car door open, climbing out in one smooth move. 

“I was as mad as fuck because I’d found out that not only had you been banging a fucking demon but that you’d been drinking her fucking blood!” Dean shoved his way out of the Impala, storming around the trunk to plant himself in front of Sam.

“You told me I was a monster.” Sam had his stubborn face on.

“I was pissed at you, you moron!” Dean stepped into Sam’s space, sucking in deep breaths, determined to get Sam to see. “You’re my fucking brother, and I fucking love you!”

“Well that’s a fucking awesome way of showing it!” Sam shouted back, finally getting mad instead of miserable. He shoved Dean back, away from him.

Dean stumbled, barely stopping himself from falling. “I fucking died for you!” Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so mad. 

“So did I!” Sam bellowed.

“I swear on Mom’s life, I never left that message.” Dean tried to calm down, to take the anger to a manageable level. It hadn’t ever been his strong point, being the rational one.

Sam grabbed his arm. “I heard it, Dean. I was with Ruby, and that made me so fucked up in the head.”

“Wait a minute.” Dean didn’t try to pull away, his mind was racing. “You said you were with Ruby?”

Sam nodded. “We went into the chapel right after, to kill Lilith.”

Dean wanted to puke. “God, Sammy, demons lie.” 

Sam looked ill. “I heard you,” he insisted, all anger drained out of him.

“You heard what that lying bitch wanted you to hear. You heard what she needed you to hear so that you would think I’d given up on you.” Dean’s mind raced. ”She must have changed the message somehow.” 

He stopped suddenly. “Oh no. Oh hell to the fucking no. Fucking goddamn, fucking lying fucking son-of-a-bitch fucking angels!” He clenched his fists. “Zachariah said something to me when he had me in that room, about you needing a nudge in the right direction.”

“Well that did it,” Sam admitted brokenly. Dean flinched. Sam stared at him, visibly shattered. “I heard you,” he whispered.

Dean couldn’t stand this for one more moment. He surged forward, grabbed Sam in his arms and held on. Sam shook in his embrace. “You didn’t know,” Dean assured him, Sam’s hot breath warming his neck. “It’s okay, Sammy, you didn’t know.”

Sam’s big hands clutched at Dean’s back, shirt bunching up in his fingers. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Sam moaned the words over and over again into Dean’s skin.

“Shut up,” Dean ordered, voice cracking horribly. “We’re okay, we’re alive.”

“I should have known,” Sam murmured, body vibrating in Dean’s arms. “I should have known you’d never say something like that to me.”

Dean gave an inelegant snort. “I don’t know so much, Sammy. We’ve both said some pretty shitty things to each other over the years.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed, muscles relaxing. His hands dropped to Dean’s hips, palms touching skin where Dean’s shirt had ridden up. Dean sucked in a breath.

Sam froze. “Dean?” he lifted his head. “What’s wrong? You spot something?” He started pulling away. Dean just tightened his grip.

“Nothing,” Dean assured him, pulling him back. “Your hands are cold,” he lied.

Sam dropped his forehead against Dean’s neck again. “Sorry.”

“Shut up.” Dean kept his voice deliberately light. They’d exhausted the Winchester quota for heart-to-hearts for the rest of the century. “So…. Gryphons, huh?” The wet snort of Sam’s laughter was the most beautiful thing Dean had heard in a long time.

**Can I Change M'Eye M'Eye'nd**

Stiles watched Derek pace. “Dude, please, just stop,” he begged. “You’re wearing me out.”

Derek stopped abruptly. “You should be resting.” He sent an extremely unsubtle glance Scott’s way.

“No.” Stiles met Scott’s gaze. “Do not even think about it. I’m not going anywhere!” Scott deflated a little, looking between Derek and Stiles. A low whine started in his throat.

Jackson, leaning heavily against Lydia, growled, “Are we seriously not going to talk about what just happened here?”

Lydia put a calming hand on his stomach. “We’re getting there. Take a chill pill, Mister.” Her worried smile took the sting out of the words.

Stiles lifted his legs when Derek slumped down beside him on the sofa again. He gave a hum of approval when Derek started an absent massage of his calves. Ith peered interestedly over Stiles’ knees, obviously fascinated with this interaction. 

“To summarize.” Lydia held up one finger. “We have an unknown ‘whozits’?” She looked at Stiles for clarification. He nodded. “Trying to kill us.”

“Me.” Stiles really felt it was important to point out that the soft non-superhuman had been the one targeted.

“Fine.” Lydia gave Stiles a quelling look. “We have an unknown ‘whozits’ trying to kill Stiles.” She held up a second finger. “We have someone who wants the werewolves taken out,” she lifted the third finger, “by siccing the Winchesters on us.” She looked around. “That about right?”

Everyone nodded. Scott and Isaac were curled around each other. Allison hovered over them, unsure as to how or what she should be doing. Boyd and Erica had moved to the sofa, leaning against Derek’s legs, Erica trailing one hand through Ith’s feathers. Chris and John were in chairs now, alert and waiting. Peter rested his back against Chris’ legs. Chris didn’t move. Stiles did _not_ want to know what that meant.

Only Ith seemed unconcerned, tucking his head beneath his wing and going to sleep.

“Anyone have any ideas that could possibly be useful?” Lydia asked the room again.

“Since when did you become the boss of us?” Stiles poked Derek. “C’mon, babe, embrace the Alpha, _be_ the Alpha.”

Derek dug his fingers in just hard enough to make Stiles squeak. “Shutting up.” Stiles winced, trying to pull his legs away. Derek held on though, going back to the comforting rhythm he’d been keeping.

“We need to find out more about the thing in the preserve.” Derek looked at the wolves. “If it’s after Stiles then it might be after any of the humans.” He shook his head at Lydia when she opened her mouth. “No, it’s too dangerous to take the risk.”

Stiles slumped a little. He’d been hoping that he was the special snowflake in the bunch. Derek was quite possibly right. Whoever, whatever, had set the trap, had been hunting mortal prey. “Dad, you need to stay out of the preserve.” He thought going with an order would maybe slide.

“Nice try, kiddo,” John said. He looked down at Peter. “You interested in doing a little recce?”

Peter’s smile was hungry. “I’m always keen for an adventure.” He nudged Chris’ knee. “Are you coming out to play, sweetheart?”

Stiles watched Chris flush. Allison’s eyes went wide with horror. “Oh. My. God! Ew!” She looked between the three men. “Are you being serious right now?”

Scott was adorably oblivious. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

Allison flung her hand out towards them. “It’s not bad enough that they’re sharing your mother, now they’re sharing _each other_?”

Scott’s eyes went even wider, even more horrified than Allison’s. Stiles found it hilarious. 

Until he realized that his _dad_ was an actual part of this ménage a four. “What’s French for four?” he asked Lydia.

“Quatre,” she said, mouth quirking. She totally knew where his brain was going with this. The three men who were being talked about hurried out of the house. Rats off a sinking ship, Stiles aimed daggers with his eyes at them.

“I will need brain bleach for _ever_!” Scott swung to glare at Derek. “Do something!” he yelled. 

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Like what?” he asked.

“Forbid it?” Stiles suggested hopefully. 

Derek turned to look at him. “They’re older than me, Stiles. In fact, one of them is your father.”

“Lalalalalalala!” Stiles stuck his fingers in his ears. His arm wasn’t hurting any more. 

He stopped.

_His arm **wasn’t hurting** any more._

He dropped his arms and started pulling at the bandages.

“What are you doing?” His dad went into full parental authority mode when he saw what Stiles fiddling at his arm. “Stop messing with it, Stiles. You just got out of the hospital.”

“Doesn’t hurt.” Stiles tugged harder, and then held his arm out to Derek, eyes tragic. “Please?”

Derek stared at him for a moment. “You sure?” Stiles nodded, flinching only a little when a razor-sharp claw sliced through the fabric.

His arm was unblemished. “What the fuck?” he whispered.

Derek grabbed his arm, turned it several ways, ignoring Stiles’ yelp of “Hey! Not a pretzel, dude!” and sniffed at it. 

“Smells good,” Derek noted with a little smirk. Stiles winked at him.

“See, now these are the sort of gems you keep sharing with the class, that we really are okay _not_ knowing,” Jackson announced to the room.

Stiles used the other hand to flip him off.

“How is that possible?” John was a little pale. He hadn’t moved though, Stiles noticed. That was progress. Trusting anyone with Stiles’ care was a huge step in the boyfriendly direction.

“I have no idea,” Stiles admitted. “Could be I’m awesome?” The number of disbelieving expressions leveled at him was kind of demoralizing. And a little insulting.

“ _I_ healed your wound.” The muffled voice coming from the depth of snowy feathers made Stiles look down at Ith.

“What?” He poked at the gryphon who gave an irritated shake. “How? Why? How?”

Ith’s eyes literally rolled. “Don’t you know _anything_ about gryphons?” he asked.

“Uh. Nope.” Stiles poked Ith again. “Talk,” he ordered.

Ith heaved a sigh and hopped up onto the back of the sofa. “Gryphons have the ability to heal their human family,” he said, puffing out his chest. 

“How much healing are we talking?” Stiles was excited at the possibilities.

“Well, not death,” Ith informed him drolly. Derek snorted a laugh. 

Stiles glared at him. “Shut up.”

“He’s perfect for you,” Derek said.

Stiles decided to ignore Derek. He focused on Ith. “So what level of damage can you actually heal?”

Ith settled down, folding his paws over each other. Stiles wanted to coo at how cute he was. “I am able to heal most wounds,” he said. “The greater the damage, the longer it takes.”

“Why?” Lydia’s curious eyes were fixed on Ith. “And who can you heal? Is it only Sparky over there?” She waved a perfectly manicured hand towards Stiles.

“Hey!” Stiles felt the need to defend himself. Or something. Lydia usually insulted people in ways that were really hard to prove.

Ith looked at her. “I am Ith, the Dark One of House Stilinski,” he reminded her. “I am bound to Stiles and his father.”

“So the rest of us can just sort ourselves out?” Jackson asked, sounding very disgruntled.

“Excuse me!” Stiles put up his now healthy arm. “Squishy human here, super-fast healing werewolves everywhere else!”

“And yet, would you look at that, several other humans in the mix who would appreciate assistance from our magical friend.” Lydia’s voice was flat. Which meant she was pissed. Stiles sighed. He really wasn’t going to win at anything today.

Ith cocked his head. “I am not sure how it would work with a wolf pack,” he admitted. “I could perhaps try to heal you if you did get injured?” He sounded doubtful.

Lydia held out a hand to Jackson. “I need you to cut me,” she said.

Jackson startled so hard it would have been funny if the rest of the room hadn’t erupted into a chorus of “Hell no’s!”

“We need to test it.” Lydia was wearing her least accommodating expression. It was the one that Stiles knew to mean do things my way or die. “Cut me.”

Jackson had that half-terrified, half-turned on expression he had so often around Lydia. “Just a little cut,” he agreed. He popped a claw (Stiles had to let go of his ten year-old inner child’s reaction to _that_ ) and pressed down on her palm.

Ith launched off the sofa, landing softly on Lydia’s lamp. “You trust your wolf,” he noted.

“He’s my mate,” Lydia said quite simply and held out her hand to Ith. “Let’s do your thing, pretty Ith.”

Stiles rolled his eyes at Ith’s preening. “There’s no need to flirt with every male of _every_ species, Lydia.”

“A little goodwill goes a long way, Stilinski.” She quirked an eyebrow. “Well then.” The cut had vanished.

Ith looked incredibly pleased with himself. “It appears to work for your pack as well.”

“Whoop-de-do.” Stiles felt a little disgruntled. He had hoped that he’d be the only one Ith could heal. Well, and his dad too of course. 

“Not so special after all.” Jackson sounded entirely too happy about it. Stiles had to force himself not to give in to the urge to stick his tongue out at Jackson. Apparently, he turned into an infant when Jackson was around.

“Now that we’ve established that Ith is the most awesome of awesome gryphons ever to awesome, can we please try and figure out what the hell is trying to get me…us all killed?” Stiles waved a hand at the pack. 

“Maybe there’s a link.” Lydia pulled her laptop out and started typing. 

“What? Like an alliance?” Derek watched as she worked.

“Take out the wolves to get to the humans.” Stiles tapped his chin. “That’s actually kind of brilliant.” He made grabby hands at Lydia. “Let me play.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “My laptop. My fingers.”

Stiles deflated against Derek. Ith made his way back to Stiles, hopped up and lay on the back of the sofa, looking at them. “I smelled something ancient out there.” He lifted a clawed foot and dug at his teeth.

Stiles stared at him. “And you’re only mentioning this now?” 

Ith looked down at Stiles over his beak. For a baby gryphon he had attitude in spades. “Nobody asked me.” It was a simple answer that was entirely irrefutable.

Stiles rolled his eyes. Derek gave his arm a squeeze and tapped Ith’s beak. “What did you sense?”

“Gryphons have been in existence for many millennia.” Ith began.

“Yeah, yeah.” Stiles made an impatient motion with his hand. “Gryphons are the best. More about the wacky.”

Ith sneered. If mythical beasts with beaks could sneer. “I’m telling you what I know.”

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice was weary. “Let Ith say his piece.”

Stiles looked at Derek. The dark shadows beneath his eyes told of several sleepless nights. Stiles knew those were because of him. “Sorry, babe.” He scooted a little closer, wrapped himself around Derek a little more.

Ith nodded regally. “As I was saying, gryphons are creatures of legend because of their long existence. The scent I picked up was also of myth.”

Stiles could actually feel his eyes bug out. “Seriously? A unicorn is trying to kill me?” He’d had about enough of these legendary creatures showing up in Beacon Hills and adopting him.

Ith snorted. “Please. Unicorns are only interested in virgins.”

Stiles felt his neck heat up. Thank god his dad had left the house already. They’d agreed not to bring up the fact that he and Derek enjoyed performing the horizontal mambo. “So what then?”

“It smelled of sulphur and lightning.” Ith cocked his head to one side, looking over to where Lydia was scrolling furiously through something. “Fire and ash. Disease and death.”

“What the fuck?” Jackson was looking over Lydia’s shoulder. “That is some seriously scary shit.”

“What?” Derek held on to Stiles as he tried to wriggle off the sofa. “Come on, man,” he whined. “My goggle-fu is rusty.”

“It’s barely been two days, Stiles.” Isaac’s reasonableness wasn’t what Stiles needed right then.

“Did you see anything?” Lydia lifted her gaze to stare at Ith.

“A shadow, perhaps,” Ith admitted. He hunched his shoulders. “Bones.”

“Bones?” Stiles was completely confused. “I don’t get it.”

Lydia held up a hand. “Scott, Boyd, did you smell anything?”

Scott shook his head. “Nothing I can put my finger on. Dog, human, bird, but all mixed up. Like I said, human but not human.” He looked frustrated.

“What are you thinking, Lyds?” Allison perched on the edge of the chair that Scott and Isaac were sitting on.

Lydia tapped a finger on her chin. “I’m not up to date on all of the myths and legends that are floating around, but since Nakakem and Ith showed up, I’ve been doing a lot of reading.”

Stiles tried to picture his dragon. Her memory faded more every day. It made his chest ache. Derek tugged him closer, his big arm a comforting warmth around him. He rubbed his cheek against Derek’s chest. Derek’s chest was one of his very favorite spots. “And?”

“What do you know about the Mayans and Aztecs?” Lydia asked by way of nothing. She was greeted with mostly blank stares.

“Oh!” Ith exclaimed, eyes bright. “You are truly the smartest one in our pack.” He watched Lydia with admiration.

Stiles scowled at them both. “While I’m thoroughly enjoying this little mutual admiration society, some actual information would be appreciated.” He _really_ hated not being in the know.

Isaac sat up suddenly. “You’re thinking about something like Quetzalcoatl, aren’t you?” Everyone turned to look at him. Stiles thought that the same expression of disbelief was probably on all of their faces. “What?” Isaac crossed his arms defensively. “I like history, okay?”

“Oookay.” Stiles exchanged a confused glance with Derek. “What does that have to do with..?”

“I think we’re dealing with an Aztec god.” Lydia glared at him. “Just once in your life I wish you’d shut up and listen.”

“Just once?” Jackson’s eyes gleamed. Asshole.

“Wait, Aztec _god_?” Stiles had just registered Lydia’s words. “What the fuck?”

**Cr'Eye'ing to the Sk'Eye**

Dean leaned back against the Impala, his hands firm on Sam’s hips. He didn’t know how long they stayed like this. He closed his eyes; let the warmth of the late morning sun caress his face. They didn’t get many opportunities like this. Peace was a rare commodity in the Winchester world.

Sam’s face was still smashed up against Dean’s neck. It should have been weird. It _was_ weird. But in the endless line of whacky they’d dealt with, it was okay. “Dean.” Sam’s voice was muffled.

“Yeah?” Dean lifted a hand lazily, ran it slowly down Sam’s back. Not weird at all.

“I should move.” Sam lifted his head so that Dean’s eyes crossed they were so close.

“Probably.” Dean wasn’t in any hurry though. For the first time in forever, he and his little brother were on the same page, and Dean was _not_ going to let anything fuck it up.

“Definitely.” Sam pulled back a little, staring at Dean.

“What?” Dean was always interested in what went on in Sam’s giant brain.

“Nothing.” Sam shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

Dean wasn’t having any of that. “Talk to me, Sammy.” It wasn’t an order, it was a plea.

Sam opened his mouth, and a second later something hit Sam’s back, shoving him hard into Dean. “What the fuck?” Dean was moving before he finished the words, grabbing Sam, pulling him behind him.

“No fucking way, dickhead!” Sam snarled as he pushed Dean away. Their guns were out, aiming at whatever had knocked Sam over.

They froze. “What. The. Fuck?” Dean breathed, unable to process what he was seeing.

“Holy shit.” Sam seemed just as blown away.

It looked like a skeleton with the head of a dog. Its teeth were huge, salvia dripping down from its mouth in a river.

“Any ideas here, Sammy-boy?” Dean didn’t take his eyes from the thing.

“Uh. No?” Sam moved closer to Dean, pressing his shoulder tightly against Dean’s. 

“How the fuck do we kill it then?” Dean felt his heart pounding.

“Not a clue,” Sam admitted. 

“Shoot it?” Dean suggested, tracking the creature with his gun. He fired off a couple of shots. All it did was make the thing mad. It made a terrible sound – half-bark, half-roar – took several steps closer. 

Only then did Dean notice that the bones of its legs and feet were facing the wrong way, as though someone had put it together wrong. It freaked him the fuck out.

“You can’t shoot a skeleton, Einstein,” Sam pointed out. 

“Fuck you.” Dean shot a glare at Sam, trying to keep his eyes on whatever the hell this was. “You got any bright ideas?”

“Get the fuck out of here and figure out what we’re dealing with.” Sam edged to the Impala, hand scrabbling for the door handle behind him.

Dean didn’t like to run away from a fight, but bullets hadn’t made a dent. Even the one shot that had collided with the dog-thing’s head had barely left a mark. “Fine.” He spun around, threw himself over the hood of his baby and yanked the door open.

Sam did the same thing, slamming the door shut as the thing lunged towards them. “Go! Go!” Sam yelled as Dean started the car and gunned the engine. Her wheels spun for a second, then gripped the soil. Dean literally threw her into reverse gear, frantically driving back as quickly as he could. He trusted Sam to keep an eye on the creepy dog-thing.

By the time they hit a tarred road, Dean was sweating. He spun Baby’s wheel and got the hell out of Dodge. He looked up once in his rear-view mirror and wished he hadn’t. The freak of nature scuttled after them like some whackadoo crab. “Shit!” He looked over at Sam. “It’s still on our ass!”

“Don’t look at me, man!” Sam held up his hands. “I have no idea.” He turned in his seat, craning his neck to keep an eye on the thing. “Wait! Hold up!” He put one hand on Dean’s arm. “It’s gone.”

“What?” Dean’s foot hit the brakes. He winced as the Impala skidded across the road in a squeal of tires. He looked in the mirror to see that Sam was right. “Where the fuck did it go?” The tree line was too far back from the road for it to have been able to get under their cover between the time Dean had watched in the rear-view mirror and Sam’s shout.

“I feel like I’m saying this a lot,” Sam admitted. “But, I have no fucking idea.”

Sam’s phone rang suddenly, making them both jump. Sam looked down at the caller ID. “It’s the sheriff.” Sam pressed the speaker. “Sheriff Stilinski.”

“Was that you boys tearing out of here like a bat out of hell?” The sheriff sounded a little winded, as though he’d been running.

“Shit. You’re in the forest?” Sam met Dean’s gaze. “You need to get out of there right now.” Dean was about ready to turn Baby back in the direction they’d come from. They weren’t leaving anyone out here with that thing.

“No!” Dean heard the sound of a truck starting up coming through on the line. “We’re right behind you. We’ll meet back up at my house.” The sheriff ended the call, and Dean looked in his rear view mirror. A truck barreled up behind them, the horn honking. Dean saw three figures in the cab.

“Wonder who “we” is.” Sam looked at Dean.

“There is so much weird shit going on in this town.” Dean shook his head. “I’m not even going to _try_ and guess.” He had a feeling that the adult humans had been sent out to do some recon.

**It's T'Eye'me to Make a Change**

The low growl of the Winchesters’ car heralded their arrival. Stiles heard the sound of another engine cut out a second later. He looked at Derek.

“Your father, Peter and Argent.” Derek appeared worried. “They’re back pretty quickly.”

Stiles felt his stomach swirl with anxiety. “Do you think they’re okay?”

Jackson peered out of the window. “They’re all there. Nobody seems to be bleeding, but I’m not sure if they’re pissed off or terrified.”

The door opened, and the five men came in, talking loud and fast. Stiles could barely make out who was speaking.

“I’ve been hunting my entire life and I’ve never seen anything like that shit!” Dean looked at Sam, who shook his head. 

“What the hell was it?” John asked. He stared at Chris. “Walking bones? What the fuck else is going to drop into this town?”

“We’re the Sunnydale of the twenty-first century,” Stiles quipped. 

His dad and Sam stared at him with equally blank expressions. Scott patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, man. Not everyone is as clued up with pop culture as we are.”

Stiles grinned at him. “True dat.” He held up his fist, and Scott obligingly bumped it. Interestingly, Dean seemed to know exactly what he was talking about. Dean was clearly a closet geek. Another tick in the “Approved by Stiles” column.

“Stiles.” Derek’s use of his name as a reprimand was going to get old. 

“So, we’ve been researching our brains out,” Stiles barely refrained from poking Derek with a finger. Soul mates were supposed to have each other’s backs!

Isaac gave him a glare. “ _You_ haven’t done anything.”

Stiles waved a hand. “We are a pack, a team. What you know, I know. Mi casa, su casa. Yada yada.”

Before the conversation could go any further off course, Dean snapped his fingers. “Focus, kid.”

“Not so much with the “kid”, please.” Stiles looked over at his dad. “We think we know what it might be.”

“Did you see it?” Lydia’s question had them all turning to look at her. Stiles kept his gaze on the Winchesters. Sam made a complicated eyebrow movement that would have given Derek a run for his money.

“Yeah.” Dean seemed to get the okay from Sam. “It looked like a skeleton with a dog’s head and it’s legs and feet on backwards.”

“Huh.” Stiles was amazed. “Isaac was actually right.”

“Fuck you.” Isaac kicked out at Stiles who scrambled onto Derek with a yelp. “You’re not the only smart…” he paused, looking at Lydia cautiously, “…guy here.”

Derek pushed Stiles off him. “So it’s Xolotl, then?” 

“Sholow who?” Dean frowned.

Sam’s face was animated as he headed to where Lydia was perched with her laptop. He ignored Jackson’s low growl, just looked at Lydia in question. She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment and then silently handed her laptop to him.

Stiles was in shock. Lydia’s MacBook Pro was her Precious. Way more important to her than even her new Christian Louboutins. And don’t ask Stiles about those shoes. He was not going to talk about that shopping experience ever.

“Xolotl.” Sam was already busy on the laptop. “He’s an Aztec god.”

“Brother to Quetzalcoatl,” Isaac added, flushing a little when Sam sent him an approving smile.

Dean quite visibly didn’t like that. He took several steps closer to Sam, stopping only when he realized that Stiles was staring at him. “Can you please speak English?” He folded his arms across his chest, narrowing his eyes at Stiles.

Stiles was a master at the narrow-eyed stare though. He’d learned from his dad. He focused on the stare-off, just barely aware of the rest of the conversation around him.

“Quetzalcoatl and Xolotl are the twin brother gods heading the Aztec faith.” Sam sounded as though he was used to telling people about weird shit. “Quetzalcoatl is the serpent god, the morning star. Xolotl is the god of fire, the evening star.”

“So what the hell is an Aztec god doing in Beacon Hills?” John propped his hands on his hips. “And did I just seriously ask that as a legitimate question that I expect answered?”

Stiles broke first, looking at his dad. He ignored the little smirk that curled Dean’s mouth. He really was a hot looking dude, even if he was an asshole. Derek kicked his ankle. “Ow!” Stiles glared at him. “What was that for?”

“I can smell you, remember?” Derek growled. Stiles felt his cheeks get hot. Scott and Isaac howled with laughter. 

“Fucking werewolves.” Stiles flopped back against the sofa. Then he remembered Ith. “Little dude!” He spotted Ith perched on top of the TV cabinet, watching everything happening around him. “What do gryphons know about Aztec gods?” He jumped up, heading towards Ith.

“I wondered when you’d get around to asking me.” Ith launched himself off the cabinet, into Stiles’ arms. “You don’t need your magic box if you have me.” He seemed entirely dismissive of Lydia’s MacBook.

“Start talking then,” Dean growled.

“Hey!” Stiles narrowed his eyes at Dean. “You keep your issues to yourself, okay? No bullying the Stilinski gryphon.”

Sam’s snorted laugh earned him a glare from Dean. “Shut up.” Dean sounded about ten years old. 

Stiles shook his head. “I have no idea why you think you’re so charming. You’re a dick.”

Derek took a couple of steps towards Stiles when he saw Dean’s fists clenching. Stiles held his ground _and_ Dean’s gaze. He was intimately acquainted with staring into the eyes of monsters. 

Dean watched him closely. Ith vibrated in his arms. The tension in the room was as thick as molasses.

Sam put the laptop down, moved over to Dean with careful steps. “Dean.” It was Sam’s turn to be the calm one. Stiles realized that the Winchesters were literally the yin to each other’s yang. 

Dean looked at Sam, shook his head as though clearing it. “Sorry,” he apologized. “Still a little freaked out by the dog skeleton.”

Stiles took the olive branch offered. “It’s cool.” He petted Ith. “How about you tell us what you know?”

Suddenly Ith jumped out of Stiles’ arms and stalked over to Dean. “You’re very angry.” It seemed like the most obvious statement in the history of the universe to Stiles.

Dean crouched down so that his face was almost level with Ith’s. Stiles watched Sam make another aborted movement towards Dean. 

“I’ve got a lot to be angry about,” Dean told Ith.

“You should let it go,” Ith advised. “It poisons you.”

“You think I don’t know that?” It seemed as though Dean had forgotten about the rest of them. He was entirely focused on Ith. “How do you let go of years of shit leveled at you?”

Ith stepped closer, beak almost touching Dean’s face. “I cannot tell you how to free your spirit,” he said. “I can only help heal you a little.”

Stiles opened his mouth to protest. Ith was _their_ gryphon. He was still coming to terms with the fact that Ith could heal all the pack humans. Now he wanted to help a strange (in every sense of the word) hunter!

“How?” Dean asked. Stiles shut his mouth. That one word was so hopeless and broken that it physically hurt. He glanced over at Sam whose face was twisted in sorrow as he watched his brother.

“Sit,” Ith directed. Dean obeyed instantly, folding his legs so that Ith could clamber into his lap. Once he’d settled, he looked up at Dean. “Place your hands on my back.” Dean was so careful it was painful to see. “And don’t let go.”

Ith’s words were barely spoken when Dean threw his head back, howling. Sam hurtled forward, hands reaching out to grab his brother. “No!” Ith leveled a glare at Sam that halted him in tracks. “Don’t touch him.”

Stiles watched as Sam sat helplessly at Dean’s side, fists clenching and unclenching as he watched his brother’s suffering.

“Stiles.” Ith’s voice was soft. “I need your help.”

Stiles scrambled to sit in front of Dean, legs crossed. “What do you need me to do?” He didn’t hesitate. He saw Derek take one protesting step forward, and then settle when Stiles shook his head.

“Put your hands on Dean’s,” Ith ordered. “And…”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let go.” Stiles placed his hands over Dean’s, and closed his eyes. His spark took instant flight, plunging through skin and bone, unerringly to where he felt Ith at work. 

He was fascinated at how Ith painstakingly joined spirit and blood together, binding it carefully over dark spots in Dean’s soul. He followed Ith’s lead, reaching out with his spark to knit healthy pieces around rotten, scraped open spaces. It was slow going, Dean’s soul a constant scream around them as they worked. 

Ith’s focus never wavered and Stiles marveled at him. In human terms, Ith was a baby and yet here he was, wrapping bits of himself around a broken soul.

“Enough.” Ith’s mental voice was deep and rough. “We cannot fix everything. The rest his brother must help repair.”

Stiles protested. His spark was made to shine in the darkest places. Dean Winchester was a black hole of despair. And then he felt it. It was a streak of lightning, a spike of sunshine that shot through him. It was Dean at his purest, his essence. It was beautiful.

Ith tugged at his spark. “Come. We cannot stay.” Stiles was reluctant to obey, dazzled at the display that Dean’s newly mended soul was giving. He followed Ith obediently though, back up through flesh and blood to the real world.

He opened his eyes to meet Dean’s. The last time he’d seen such desperate joy had been when Derek had kissed him in his father’s kitchen when Stiles had made his choice. “Hi.” His voice was cracked and his throat was raw. He felt like he’d been screaming for years. “How’re you feeling?”

Sam was holding onto Dean now, arms around him as though he was the only thing capable of keeping Dean from flying apart. It was entirely possible that it was true. Dean waved a hand at him, bringing his fingers up to grip Sam’s tightly. “Like I just went ten rounds with a shredder,” he rasped.

Ith staggered out of Dean’s lap, collapsing against Stiles’ knees. “I need to rest.”

Stiles couldn’t quite shake the memory of Ith’s deep, commanding voice in his head. He ran a hand over Ith’s soft wings. “I second that.” His body shook, muscles trembling with the aftereffects of his efforts. 

Derek crouched down and scooped Stiles into his arms. “Grab Ith, I’m taking you upstairs.” The tone brooked no arguments, though Stiles was not inclined to argue. He silently obeyed, cradling Ith against his chest while Derek did the same with him. 

His eyes were almost closed by the time Derek lay him down on his bed. “Don’t go,” he murmured, hand reaching out for Derek.

“I won’t,” Derek promised. “You know we’re going to have to talk about why your spark is suddenly so powerful.”

“Later,” Stiles slurred. “Sleep first.” Ith was already a warm, loose-limbed weight at his side.

“Sleep first,” Derek agreed.

Stiles wasn’t a werewolf, but he could hear the two hearts beating beside him. He drifted off with Derek’s fingers in his hair, and Ith’s paws kneading gently at his belly.

**You Are the L'Eye'ght**

Dean sat silently for a while, trying to process everything. He felt too big for his skin, like he could explode right out of it in a heartbeat. Sam’s arms were a vice around him, a firm reminder that he wasn’t letting go. Dean just let his body slump against Sam’s.

“Dean!” Sam’s voice was panicked. “Talk to me. Tell me what the hell just happened.”

“The truth?” Dean didn’t like how his voice cracked. “I have no goddamn idea, Sammy.”

John Stilinski crouched down in front of them. “I think we should shelve the rest of the conversation about our Mayan or Aztec, or what the fuck ever god friend, until you all are back up to snuff.” His face was kind. “I have no idea what my boy and his weird pet did to you, but I’m guessing you need some recovery time.”

Dean nodded slowly. “Thanks.” He looked around the room. “Where’d everybody go?”

John held out a hand to help Dean up. Dean felt Sam’s arms tighten. “I’m okay,” he assured him. Sam’s reluctance to let Dean go was a tangible thing.

“About half an hour into whatever the hell that was, Lydia suggested that we all reconvene tomorrow morning. We weren’t sure how long it was going to last.”

“That took over half an hour?” Dean swayed a little as he was pulled to his feet. Sam’s hands were the only anchors in his suddenly upside down world. He hadn't been aware of the passage of time. “Shit. I’m wiped.”

“You guys were deep under for almost an hour.” The sheriff waved a hand at about ten severely decimated pizza boxes. “I’ve kept some of the pizza the kids ordered. Help yourselves. I've to go into the station, late shift this week.”

“How come you’re suddenly so very helpful?” Sam’s question was one that Dean wanted answered as well.

“My kid.” John put a warm hand on Dean’s shoulder. “When he put his hands on you without hesitating. He wouldn’t have helped someone he didn’t trust.”

Dean felt his cheeks get hot. “He shouldn’t trust us.” He met Sam’s shadowed gaze. “We tend to be hard on the people we know.”

“Hang around Beacon Hills for a while, son, and you’ll find out pretty much the same applies to our pack.” John gave Dean one last squeeze and left.

“Dorothy, do I click my heels three times and wish myself back home?” Dean looked at Sam.

Sam’s smile was small, but real. “I have absolutely no idea what just happened.” He steered Dean towards the pizza. “I _do_ know that I’m starving, and you’re always less of a jerk when your stomach is full.”

Dean felt compelled to defend himself. “Damn, I must be slipping.”

Sam handed him a plate with a couple of slices. “Shut up and eat.”

Dean wolfed the food down, chasing it with a beer that Sam handed to him. His head still felt weird and his skin too tight. “I could sleep,” he confessed to Sam when they’d finished.

“Then we sleep.” Sam seemed surprisingly okay with leaving the dog god to the kids of Beacon Hills for the next little while. He followed Dean up the stairs into their temporary home. Dean flopped onto the bed, groaning as every muscle in his body protested.

“Don’t be a moron.” Sam tugged at his shoes. “C’mon, Dean.” 

Dean snuffled into the pillow, grunting as Sam wrestled him out of his jacket and shirt. “Fu’ off.”

“You can’t sleep in your clothes.” Dean swatted at Sam’s hands at his belt. “Don’t be difficult.”

Dean gave up, rolled over and let Sam tug his belt loose and his jeans down. “You’re such a freak.” They both froze. Dean opened his eyes to see Sam’s mouth pull tight. “Don’t.” Dean grabbed Sam’s shirt and tugged. “You know I don’t mean it like that.”

Sam fell forward, arms bracketing Dean’s waist. It was intimate and something inside Dean squirmed. Sam’s eyes never left Dean’s face. “You keep saying shit to me, it eventually starts to sound like truth.” Sam’s voice was low, eyes careful.

“I’m tired and the gryphon whammied me. I can’t be held responsible for my words.” Dean poked at Sam’s chest. “And you need to stop taking everything I say so literally.”

Sam moved then, dropped his head and pressed a kiss to Dean’s lips. It startled them both. Sam pulled away, eyes wide and terrified. Dean kept his fingers twisted in Sam’ shirt. “Fuck.” Sam barely breathed the word. “I'm sorr...”

“Shut up.” Dean knew the whirling, twisting thing inside him was whatever this feeling was. “Do that again.”

“What?” Sam's eyes went even bigger, mouth dropping open in shock. “Dean...”

“Of all of the fucked-up things in our incredibly fucked-up lives, this feels like it’s the closest thing to making sense.” Dean watched Sam's eyes. Watched them track his tongue when he licked his lips. Watched them go dark when Dean pushed up a little into him.

“Do you have any idea what you're doing?” Sam's question startled him. Dean had been expecting the morality lecture before anything else.

He shook his head. “Not a clue,” he confessed. “But there's one thing I _do_ know.” Sam waited. “I know that you're it for me, man. It's not normal. It’snot right, at least in the eyes of the rest of the world, but I don't care anymore.”

“Dean...” Sam's voice was a breath, barely audible. “What are you saying?”

Dean felt that squirrelly feeling in his belly again. Emotions were not his forte. But Sam needed the words, and Dean was just done fighting this thing between them. “I want this,” he stated baldly, rocking his hips up against Sam's so that his brother could feel him. “I want whatever this could be.”

He waited, watched Sam's thoughts skim across his face like signposts. He saw the moment that Sam accepted this as real. “Okay.” Sam's voice was ragged. “I...I want this too.”

Dean lunged up, twisting his body so that Sam fell backwards onto the bed. The relief that swelled through him as he stared down at Sam’s face was almost overwhelming. “Wanna fool around a little?” Dean waggled his eyebrows, disguising his nerves with humor.

Sam reached up and put one huge hand on Dean’s ass, eyes utterly focused. “Yeah.”

Dean’s brain switched off. Well, the one he used to think with. The other brain was working _very_ well as Sam moved his body beneath Dean’s.

Dean wasn’t going to question this thing between him and Sam. It had built over years of being the only one in the other’s space. It felt good, almost organic. Dean was taking his happiness wherever he could find it. 

And his happiness had been tangled up in Sam for most of his life.

**F'Eye'ght the Power**

Stiles woke up knowing two things.

One - How to deal with the dog god.

Two – The Winchesters were meant to be part of the Hale pack.

One was going to be a hell of a lot easier to accomplish than Two. But that was okay, Stiles was used to dealing with impossible things.

Case in point mumbled into his neck when Stiles poked at Derek's shoulder. “Dude! I know how to get rid of the dog skeleton god thing!”

Derek swatted at his finger. “Great. Later. Shut up. Sleep.”

Derek’s degeneration into Neanderthal man was usually hilarious. Right now, Stiles needed him focused. “Up 'n at 'em, big guy.” He shoved at Derek's arm. 

Derek burrowed in deeper, legs twisting around Stiles' and pressing in closer until...Hello! Stiles' favorite meal, the cocksicle, announced itself. 

“No, seriously,” Stiles wanted to smash his own face against the headboard. It had been forever since he and Derek had done anything even remotely resembling sexy times. He needed sexy times with Derek. Only not at this precise moment. He tried to wriggle away. 

Derek’s arms tightened around him and he bit down on Stiles’ shoulder. The asshole knew how much that turned him on. Stiles shuddered to be responsible. “Down boy.”

“Dog jokes.” Derek’s voice was muffled as he sucked the largest hickey onto Stiles’ neck. “Never not hilarious.”

Stiles flopped back, closing his eyes and giving up. “Fine. Do your worst. I’ll just lie here and think of Inca.” He frowned. “Maya? Aztec?” He lifted a hand to tug on Derek’s hair. “It doesn’t have quite the same ring as England.”

“Next time a witch comes to town, I’m going to see them about an “off” switch for you.” Derek barely lifted his mouth off Stiles’ skin.

“Rude!” Stiles opened one eyelid to give Derek a half-hearted glare. “You’re so lucky you’re my soul-mate or I’d swap you for a nicer model.”

“I’m the Alpha, the nicest model out there.” The corner of Derek’s mouth quirked up. “Besides, nobody else would put up with you.”

“I’ll have you know, that some would consider me a catch.” Stiles smacked him gently.

“You’re something alright.” Derek scrubbed his stubble against Stiles' neck. 

“So not fair,” Stiles complained on a gasp. “You know too much about what I like.”

Derek lifted his head, eyes glowing crimson. “It works both ways, you know.”

Stiles was _never_ going to get used to this Derek. The Derek who was open and raw with him, one whose eyes went bright at the sight of him and who talked about feelings. 

“I love you.” Stiles’ words dropped into their silence, a vow, a benediction, a declaration.

“I know.” Derek got another poke in his side for his terrible Han Solo impersonation. 

“You're such a jerk.” Stiles tried to glare at him again but went cross-eyed as Derek moved in closer, noses almost touching.

“You’re mine forever, Stiles. I don't need anything other than _you_ to function in this world. I know that you need the words because you're so very human sometimes. But I can feel you in my cells, my blood, my bones. I know you love me the way I know the sun will rise tomorrow.” Derek was very serious as he talked. Stiles couldn't breathe.

“Maybe I'm the one who needs to say the words back to you occasionally.” Stiles put a palm on Derek's cheek. “I can feel the bond inside me too, you know. Just 'cause I'm human doesn't mean I don't know that what we have is something unique.”

Derek's face scrunched a little. “Your spark,” he nodded.

“No, you moron. **You**.” Stiles rolled his eyes at Derek's confused expression. “I bonded with you because you're the best _person_ for me. Not because you're the best werewolf.” He rubbed a thumb across Derek's lower lip. Derek's eyes went dark.

Stiles grinned. “I know that look,” he crowed. “It's your ‘I have to fuck Stiles right now or die’ look.”

Derek lost the look. “I regret everything,” he declared to the universe at large.

Stiles wrapped his arms and legs around Derek, holding him in place. “Lies!” he said, pressing his mouth to the line of Derek's throat.

Derek made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a groan. It made Stiles crazy when he was able to wring sounds like that out of Derek. He often pinched himself, sometimes in the middle of his orgasm, just to make sure that he wasn't dreaming the life that he lived. Or nightmaring.

“Stop it.” Derek growled the words into Stiles' skin. “You make me weak.”

Stiles tugged at Derek's head, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Fuck you,” he said succinctly. “I'm the best fucking thing that ever happened to you.”

Derek pushed two thick fingers into him, ruthless and determined. Stiles' body opened up to him, programmed to submit, commit, enjoy. “You are.” His voice was a low croon. “Full of shit, but the best thing in my life.”

Stiles rolled his hips, letting Derek's fingers find his prostate. “As long as you never stop doing that, we're good.” The banter during sex had taken Derek some getting used to, but now he gave Stiles as good as he got.

“You mentioned something about knowing how to deal with the dog god?” Derek's voice was a little breathless. 

Stiles snarled at him. “I swear to fucking god, I will end you Derek Hale if you decide to talk about this now when your fingers are in my ass!”

“Gee, talk about the romance being gone from the relationship.” Derek grinned, twisted his fingers a little, and Stiles whined. “I can get this done in two minutes. One, if we hurry.”

“Oh my god, **END** you!” Stiles howled a little as Derek manhandled him, putting him in position. He refused to admit how hot it made him when Derek treated his body like this thing that was put on earth for his personal pleasure. Derek was cocky enough without adding to his already long list of Stiles-related turn-ons.

Derek pushed in slowly, drawing out the slow slide until Stiles thought he might climb right out of his skin. The feeling of Derek inside him always ignited their bond, making it dance and tangle around and between them.

Stiles opened his mouth in a soundless shout, overwhelmed and overcome. Derek’s mouth slotted over his, lips soft, gentle as his cock pounded into him in long, hard jabs. Stiles wrapped himself around Derek, arms and legs forming a chain of limbs that bound them as their mate-bond joined their souls.

“Derek!” Stiles gasped into Derek’s mouth, orgasm pushing through his blood like a tidal wave.

“I’ve got you.” Derek’s low promise was enough to send Stiles flying over the edge, body clenching up, exploding into a thousand tiny pieces of bliss. Derek’s orgasm came seconds later, pulsing into Stiles as he dug his claws into the pillow beneath Stiles’ head.

“Fuck.” Stiles petted Derek’s head where he’d dropped it against his chest. “That was intense.”

Derek mumbled agreement into Stiles’ skin, his big body hot and heavy against Stiles. They lay there for a few minutes, enjoying the closeness of one another.

“Enough of the ugly bumping!” Erica sounded far too delighted as she pounded on the door. “We have work to do.”

“I hate you!” Stiles shouted back. “I hate her,” he confessed to Derek.

“Biggest mistake ever,” Derek agreed, rolling off Stiles. “Come on, we’ve got gods to conquer.”

Stiles appreciated the view as Derek pulled on his boxers. “We should shower.” He felt sticky and nasty.

“No time,” Derek said, teeth bared in a shit-eating grin. “You wanted to mess around.” He tugged his jeans over his hips and Stiles glared at him. Derek’s constant need to have Stiles smell like him should not have been as hot as he found it.

Stiles grabbed Derek’s shirt and wiped the come off his chest and stomach. “I guess you’ll need to borrow a shirt, Miguel.” He gave Derek his own version of the shit-eating grin.

Derek snarled a little, going to Stiles’ drawer and pulling out one of his own Henleys. “It’s a good thing I’ve started keeping some of my stuff here then, isn’t it?”

Stiles opened his mouth and closed it abruptly when Derek’s eyes flashed a crimson warning. “It’s wonderful!” He bobbled his head enthusiastically, not fooling Derek in the least. “Go team Sterek.” He gave a weak fist pump.

“Team Ste…” Derek stared at him. “I have no idea what planet you come from.” He left the door open as he headed down the stairs.

“Planet Awesome!” Stiles bellowed after him. He felt the all-over body-blush starting when Dean Winchester raised an enquiring eyebrow outside his room on the way to the stairs. “Ugh,” he flopped back onto the bed again. “Werewolves suck.”

Dean’s mouth ticked up in a smirk. “Judging from the noise you were making, apparently they do.”

Stiles wanted to howl in protest. Sarcastic assholes should not be so attractive to him. He spotted Sam’s hand resting at the base of Dean’s spine and blinked. Dean’s eyes met his, practically daring him to say something. Stiles shook his head and smiled.

The way Dean’s eyes softened, going a little wide, made Stiles feel something heavy uncoil in his gut. “I’ll see you downstairs?”

Stiles nodded, watching silently as Dean continued past his door, Sam stuck to his heels as they followed the smell of bacon frying.

“That better be Macon!” Stiles yelled as he tugged on the nearest clothes he could find. He thundered down the stairs, skidding into the kitchen, arms flailing wildly.

Melissa was at the stove, his dad at the table, and the Winchesters standing at the back door with Derek. Erica peered over Melissa’s shoulder making the most pathetic, whiny noises in the history of ever. The pack were not above using the puppy noises when needed.

Dean looked appalled. “In what kind of fucked up world is Macon an acceptable food choice?” 

Stiles narrowed his eyes at his dad who seemed to be nodding enthusiastically. “Planet Awesome,” Stiles repeated.

Dean’s eyebrows practically climbed over the back of his head. “Remind me never to go there.”

Sam snorted a laugh. “Dean being deprived of bacon would get seriously ugly.”

John nodded. “I keep telling the kid that I’m as healthy as a….”

“Human being with a heart problem!” Stiles yelled. The silence was suddenly heavy. Stiles rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Stiles…” his dad looked apologetically at him, but Stiles wasn’t going to get into this with him. Not right now anyway.

“I’ve figured out how to take out the dog god,” he said instead.

Derek put a big hand on his shoulder, the bond helping him calm down. “So you said.” 

“How?” Sam asked. Stiles still thought Sam was all sorts of scary, but he wanted him in their pack. With the Winchesters on their side, no-one would mess with the Hale pack ever again. Scary, playing on their side of the war, was a good thing.

“We call his brother,” Stiles said.

The shouting started a heartbeat later.

**Learning To Fl’Eye**

Dean watched Stiles stand back and observe the chaos he’d created. The grin on his face as he snuck a piece of bacon from the pan reminded him so much of Sammy as a kid that it made his chest hurt. Melissa thwapped Stiles’ hand with the spatula, Stiles yelped loudly, declaring his entirely fake innocence. Dean couldn’t stop the smile forming on his face.

Sam nudged him with a shoulder. “You okay?” he asked in a low voice. Dean knew that the question was loaded with meaning. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, nudging Sam back. “That kid though.” He indicated a still protesting Stiles. “He’s something else.”

“He is,” Sam agreed, a sadness lingering behind his eyes.

“What?” Dean kept his voice low, catching Derek’s sharp glance. The alpha was aware of every movement they made. Dean would never forget that, despite the vaguely civilized veneer, Hale was one of the monsters they had always hunted. It had taken Benny to make Dean less rigid when it came to hunting, but sometimes a monster was still a monster.

Scott pushed open the backdoor, tumbling in with Isaac at his heels. Dean shook his head. Goddamn puppies. These stupid kids with their cute faces and innocent smiles.

“Bacon!” Scott’s eyes gleamed as he hustled over to his mother. “I love you.” Erica turned around to guard her food provider. Scott ducked and weaved around her, hand snaking out to grab a piece of bacon.

“You talking to me or the meat?” Melissa asked, thwapping his hand with the same affection she’d smacked Stiles.

Scott’s dimples were embarrassing, Dean thought. Almost as ridiculous as Sam’s. “Always you, Mom.” Scott tipped his head against her shoulder, brown eyes liquid and appealing. “I left early to get Isaac.”

Stiles snorted into the cup of coffee he was sharing with Derek. “Please, you just wanted to gambol in the forest.”

Dean about choked on his own mouthful of coffee. “Jeez, warn a guy, wontcha?” Sam helpfully mopped the front of Dean’s shirt up with a kitchen towel. Dean held his breath. Sam touching him again was still new, still fragile.

“Gambol?” Isaac frowned. “Is that the same as frolic?” His big blue eyes twinkled.

Dean lost it then, dropped his head against Sam’s chest and laughed his ass off. Sam shook with silent laughter too, and just for a moment, things were really, really good.

Stiles leaned back against Derek. “Where are the rest of the pack?” Derek asked Scott.

“Boyd said he’d be here in ten. Lydia and Jackson?” Scott shrugged.

“Chris said that he and Allison would come over after breakfast,” Melissa said.

“Creepy Uncle Peter?” Stiles poked Derek’s stomach.

“You called?” The voice held far too much amusement to be a threat, but Stiles’ flail was gratifyingly funny to watch.

“I swear to god, I’m getting bells for you and Derek,” Stiles threatened.

“Ooh, kinky,” Peter purred.

“Ugh,” Stiles’ face was like play dough, instantly changing from one emotion to the next. “I need a shower.”

Scott wrinkled his nose. “Uh-huh.” 

Stiles went red and then white and then kicked Derek’s shin when he started laughing. “Laugh it up fuzz ball.” He glared at Derek. “Just remember it’s eau de Derek they’re all getting a whiff of.”

Isaac held up a hand. “Your scent is pretty potent too, dude.” 

Stiles put his hands over his face. “Ugh, werewolves. You all suck.”

The back door opened again to admit Lydia and Jackson. “We need to summon Quetzalcoatl,” she stated without greeting anyone.

Stiles rushed over to her, throwing his arms around her and ignoring the low-level growling from both Derek and Jackson. “My queen!” he exclaimed into her hair. “You are the most brilliant, the smartest, the…”

Lydia shoved him away. “You figured that out already.” Her mouth thinned. “So basically I’m useless?”

Stiles gaped at her. “No!” he gasped, flinging an arm wide to encompass the kitchen. “You are the voice of reason that will persuade this lot that I’m right.”

Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “Really?” She sounded skeptical.

Stiles kept his arm outstretched. “Look at their judge-y faces, Lyds! Just look at them.” Dean reckoned he was laying it on a bit thick.

“Hmm.” Lydia tipped her head to the side. “Did you explain _why_?” 

“Of course he didn’t,” John was buttering toast. “He just blurted it out and then sat back to enjoy the carnage.”

Stiles clutched at his chest. “You wound me, Father dear.”

John’s face told Dean that this was normal. He looked at Sam. The expression on his face made Dean’s heart hurt. _This_ was what they should have had. Saturday mornings filled with friends and laughter. Sharing jokes, teasing. 

He flinched when Stiles looked at him. The kid saw too much. Saw him too clearly. It was fucking freaky.

“So, tell us more about this Kettle guy.” Dean ignored Sam’s glare. It helped to play dumb sometimes. People tended to let things slip when they thought you were stupid.

Lydia’s sharp gaze told him that she wasn’t fooled. 

“He’s the light to Xolotl’s darkness.” Isaac smiled sweetly at Melissa when she slipped him a piece of bacon. Stiles and Scott protested loudly. “He’s the Morning Star, the feathered serpent, the dragon.”

Dean frowned. “But what good is he to us?” He was used to Sam’s expositions, so patiently waiting for the answer to his questions was something he could do. To a degree.

“Well, the theory is, they cancel each other out. One of them being out in the world is a bad thing.” Stiles checked with Lydia, who nodded agreement.

“So, we summon another god and then what?” Dean wasn’t sure if he was following.

“According to lore, they can’t exist in the same place at the same time. Like light and dark.” Lydia took the cup of coffee Jackson offered with a small smile. “So, if we somehow can summon Quetzalcoatl to Beacon Hills, that should be all we need to get rid of Xolotl.” She raised an eyebrow at Stiles. “Yes?”

Stiles beamed at her. “Abso-fuckin-lutley.” He hip-checked Derek. “Are we awesome or what?”

Derek didn’t appear convinced. To be honest, Dean thought it sounded pretty half-assed himself.

“So, anyone have any ideas how to summon an Inca god?” Erica asked the room in general.

**In the L'Eye'ght of the Miracle**

Summoning an Inca god wasn't as easy as it sounded, Stiles decided four hours later.

Once breakfast was over, the pack, along with the Winchesters, had headed over to the Hale house to do some research. 

The parentals had remained behind, only because they had actual jobs that they needed to be present for. Well, except for Peter, who was a professional lurker. And Chris, a professional scary-mofo. Stiles didn't want to know what they did when the rest of the population went to school, college or work. That way led to madness and bad, terrible dreams.

Lydia and Allison were ensconced in the living room, while Stiles had taken Sam up to the library. Sam had taken one look at the newly minted, completely translated, one-stop-shop of the HaleStiary (name patent pending) and had vanished into happy geekland. Stiles could totally relate.

Stiles looked out of the window, watching as Derek and Dean went toe-to-toe on the front lawn.

The hunter was unbelievably good. Stiles had never seen a human move that fast or hit that hard.

“He's something more,” Ith sat on the window-sill, watching them too.

“Something more than what?” Stiles had to concentrate on his mental voice, but he knew the answer anyway.

“More than human.” Ith's large eyes narrowed as Dean swung out of the way of Derek's claws. “The darkness we chased from his soul has yet left a mark.”

“He's okay though, right?” Stiles wondered for a panicked second if Derek was going to be safe.

“He will ever be changed.” Ith's non-answer made Stiles snort. “The bond that ties them together is stronger than the one between you and your mate.” Stiles followed Ith's gaze to where Sam was focused on the bestiary.

Stiles blinked. “But...” He moved closed to Ith, keeping his eyes on Sam. “They're brothers!”

Ith's endlessly golden eyes met his. “It matters not when there is a true soul-bond, Stiles. You, of all people, should understand this.”

“Huh.” Stiles leaned back again.

“What?” Sam looked up, suddenly aware of eyes on him.

“Ith tells me that you’re soul-bonded to Dean.” Stiles had never won any awards for tact.

Sam’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times. “Uh…” He went a little pale.

“Hey, no judgment, man!” Stiles held up both hands. “Well, maybe a little, but only a tiny bit. After all, I’m a spark bonded to an alpha werewolf.” He shrugged. “There’s freaky shit and then there’s Beacon Hills freaky shit.”

Sam rubbed a hand across his eyes. “I have no idea how to answer any of that,” he admitted.

“Why don’t you start by telling me what happened to him.” Stiles nodded towards the window. “It’s like he’s a hunter, but on steroids. He’s been giving my boo a bit too much of a beating for a puny human, and let me tell you, Derek ain’t no slouch in the fisticuffs department.” He kept it deliberately light. Sam Winchester was important. 

Sam sighed. “You’ve read the Supernatural books by Carver Edlund, right?”

Stiles nodded. “Now that I know the stories are all real, can I just say that your lives have been all sorts of fucked up?”

Sam’s laugh wasn’t a happy one. “You genuinely have no idea.”

“Try me,” Stiles urged. He glanced over at Ith. “Do you want me to ask the little dude to leave?”

Sam shook his head. “Your gryphon saw what you saw when you healed Dean. Plus, he does the whole mental telepathy with you, so I’m guessing that he probably has a better idea of what’s going on that any of us do.”

Ith nodded. “Being the vessel of Lucifer is a terrible burden for any man. The stain of demon even more so. Your brother will never be the man he was before this all happened.”

Sam’s mouth went tight. “Dean is the best man I’ve ever known.” He propped his elbows on his knees. “He’s done some things… We’ve done some things….”

Stiles was used to dragging things out of Derek. He could wait out the best of them. 

Sam sighed. “We’ve died. Betrayed each other. Done stupid, crazy, fucked-up shit that hasn’t been written down.” He met Stiles’ gaze. “We’re okay, now.”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, I know. But that kind of shit doesn’t disappear overnight. You Winchesters are used to carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, if I’ve been reading the Supernatural books right. What we’d like to offer you is a little bit of help. A break.”

Sam laughed bleakly. “That would be a first.”

“To survive what has been done to the both of you, he has shown a strength of character and will that I cannot recall any of my kind ever observing in a human.” Ith lifted gently off the windowsill with a flap of wings and came to rest at Sam’s elbow. “You should take great pride in your mate. And he should be proud of you.”

Stiles felt something shudder in the air. A bell sounded far away, and he watched as a coil of silver unraveled from Sam’s wrist, tumbling through the air and out of the window. He turned to see it slide down the side of the house. “Can you see it?” he asked Sam.

“Yeah,” Sam sounded shaken. “What is it?”

“It’s your soul-bond,” Stiles had the answer for this one at least. “There are usually three cords, but I can see that your chain is much thicker than mine and Derek’s.” He remembered Ith saying the Winchester’s bond was powerful. He’d not realized that it was _this_ strong.

“They have died for one another many times,” Ith stated. “Their bond is forged in both Heaven and Hell.”

A yell grabbed Stiles’ attention. Dean was writhing around on the grass, yanking at the chain.

Sam was up, moving so quickly that Stiles didn’t even try to keep up. He rushed outside to find Sam had grabbed Dean’s shoulders and was holding him down. 

“Stop fighting it, Dean!” Stiles yelled as he came up behind Sam. Derek’s arm was in front of him, blocking him off from the Winchesters.

“What the fuck is it?” Dean’s teeth were clenched as he fought the bond.

“It’s your soul-bond.” Ith landed on the grass beside Dean’s head. “Stop being a foolish human and allow it to do its work.”

Dean was so startled that he stopped struggling. “What?” 

And the bond snapped into place.

**Where Did the N'Eye'ght Go**

Dean could feel Sam. Not just his hands on his shoulders, but _inside_ him. He blinked up at Sam. “God.”

“Nope, that’s Sam.” Stiles’ quip came at him from a distance. Dean struggled to focus. Derek was holding onto Stiles, eyes fiery.

“Dean?” Sam sounded terrified. Dean turned his gaze back onto Sam’s face. His head was pounding.

“Can you feel that?” Dean pushed at Sam’s hands, sitting up slowly. He grabbed Sam’s wrists. “Sammy?”

“Yeah,” Sam’s reply was barely a breath. “I can feel it.” His eyes were wide. “I can feel _you_ , Dean.”

Dean wanted to run and hide somewhere. He felt as though he’d been split open and put on display for the world to see. “I can’t…”

“Nobody else feels it but you.” Derek’s soft words made Dean look up at him. “I know how intense it feels. Like all your insides are hanging out and everyone can see your secrets.” Dean nodded slowly. “They can’t.” Derek sounded very certain. Stiles wrapped his arms around him, rubbing his cheek against Derek’s shoulder. “Nobody can, but you.” Derek’s watchful eyes slid to Sam. “And him.”

Dean felt sick. “I don’t want him…”

“Shut up, Dean!” Sam pulled away from Dean and cupped Dean’s face between his palms. “I don’t give a fuck what you think you need to hide from me. There is literally _nothing_ that will make me stop loving you.”

Dean shuddered. “Sam, please.”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “I’m yours. **Yours** you giant asshole, and I’m not going anywhere. Not again. You need to believe that, believe in me.”

The absolute certainty, the truth, the determination in his baby brother’s face made something heat up warm and comforting in Dean’s soul. Sam was not going to be the one letting go.

Dean lifted his gaze to meet Sam’s. “Don’t be such a girl about shit, Sammy.” He tried to smile as the bond swirled around his soul in lightning bursts of silver and platinum.

“I hate you,” Sam’s smile was as pathetic as his had probably been. 

“Whatever, princess. Help me up.” His voice sounded hoarse and a little shaky. Sam tugged him to his feet. Dean felt a moment of vertigo, the world swooping a little beneath him as it turned right-way up again.

Derek stepped forward to help, but Sam’s fierce gaze warned him back. “Don’t.” Dean would have been impressed at Sam standing up to an alpha without a weapon in his hand if he hadn’t felt like some sort of chick who wanted to flutter her eyelashes at the big, strong hero.

“That’s going to get old fast,” he muttered.

Sam’s quick smile told him that he knew exactly what Dean meant. Well, shit. Seemed like all those walls were obliterated. Nothing was sacred any more.

“The soul-bond takes a bit of getting used to,” Stiles offered. “I mean, it’ll probably be easier for you two with being brothers and knowing each other so well. Me and Derek had a few hiccups along the way.”

“These two have spent much of their lives hiding their secrets from each other,” Ith flapped up, hovering at shoulder height, meeting Dean’s gaze. “The bond will not allow either of you to hide any longer.”

The gryphon flew off into the trees with Stiles shouting after him. “No blood! I swear to fucking god I will end you if there is blood on any of my clothes, sheets, blankets…!” He trailed off. “What?” He crossed his arms. “You try clean that shit out of sheets.”

Dean shook his head, leaned a little against Sam. “We should maybe talk about this,” he murmured softly.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, but later. Let’s deal with the gods first.”

Dean was a little surprised that Sam hadn’t jumped at the prospect of having misty-eyed boy talk. “Okay,” he agreed. “We can do that.”

Sam blew out a breath that Dean hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Okay.”

“Seriously, what the fuck is going on?” Jackson stood watching them all, fists on his hips. “The past ten minutes have been more fucked up than usual. And I was a kanima.”

“A what?” Dean looked over a Sam, who shrugged.

“Uhhh…” Stiles flapped his hands as though it was an efficient distraction. “Nothing!” The bright tone was entirely false. Dean could spot a lie when he heard it.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing research?” Lydia’s voice had them all turning to where she and Allison were standing on the porch. “Do I have to do _everything_ around here?”

Jackson scurried over to her, keeping an eye on Sam and Dean. He made like a wuss, ducking behind her like she was some sort of shield between him and them. 

“We had a distraction.” Stiles grinned at her. “Meet Sam and Dean Winchester, newly bonded soul-mates.” He flung his arms out, presenting them to Lydia.

“You’re an idiot.” Derek’s growl was fond enough that Dean knew it was actually an endearment.

“Marvelous,” Lydia scowled. “Well, while you all have been celebrating true love between brothers, Allison and I have found a way to summon Quetzalcoatl.”

Scott and Isaac arrived with the take-out they’d been instructed to collect. They heard the last part of Lydia’s announcement.

“Awesome!” Scott exclaimed. “What do we have to do?”

“We have to draw Xolotl to us tonight and hope that we can keep him occupied until the sun rises.” Allison looked uncertain. “I’m not sure this is a great plan.”

Stiles laughed. “Come on, Ally-cat! When are any of our plans ever good? Sourwolf over here has had some doozies over the years.”

Derek glared at him. “Yours have not been much better.”

“This is _my_ plan,” Lydia pointed out, tapping a pointy-toed shoe on the porch impatiently. “It will work.”

“Small chance of success, certainty of death?” Stiles beamed at her. “What are we waiting for?”

“Lord of the Rings!” Scott shouted in triumph. “I got that one!”

“We’re all going to die,” Dean told Sam, watching Stiles high-five Scott.

“Yeah.”

**Waiting Around to D'Eye**

Stiles ignored Derek’s eyebrows. It was hard. They were very loud eyebrows. Stiles however, was an expert at eyebrow-ignoring.

Lydia had found some obscure Aztec text that had been translated by the Conquistadors about a million years ago that spoke of the morning and the evening star sharing a moment on the same plane causing an explosion and then darkness.

“This sounds pretty wild,” Isaac read over Stiles’ shoulder. “What if we end up destroying the sun?” Stiles turned to look at him. So did everyone else. “What?” Isaac scowled. “It says an _explosion of darkness_.”

Lydia sighed. “We’re still looking at the sun right now, aren’t we?”

Scott frowned, worried. “So we won’t kill the sun?”

Stiles put his head on the nearest surface and groaned. “We can’t kill the sun, you morons.” 

“ _ **Explosion of darkness**_ ,” Isaac repeated slowly, as though they were mentally deficient.

Dean looked around the living room. “How are you all still alive?”

Stiles lifted his head to glare at him. “Shut up.” Dean had loud eyebrows too.

“Sheer luck,” Peter strolled into the living room. “There’s no other explanation.”

Stiles flipped him off. 

“So, where are we in our plans to get rid of our unwanted new resident?” Peter walked over to where Stiles was sitting with the translation. “Ah, yes, I forgot about this text. I’m assuming we’re going to be bait for Xolotl while Stiles and Lydia cast the summoning?”

Stiles really hated it when Peter did shit like this. He made their plans sound so dumb. 

“Apparently, we won’t kill the sun.” Boyd sounded skeptical.

“Maybe just for a little while,” Lydia amended.

Isaac and Scott went pale. “What?” 

“The summoning calls Quetzalcoatl to the night.” Lydia spoke slowly, as though explaining to children. Stiles resented that. He for sure understood what was going on. “It means that the morning star has to be in the night sky for a time.”

Allison pointed at the text. “We’re not just doing magic here. We’re messing with physics and the laws of the universe.”

“But they’re not really stars.” Erica frowned. “Are they?”

Sam shrugged. “We have no idea where most myths begin. If bringing the morning and evening star together resulted in darkness, then I can only assume that there is some truth in their origin.”

Stiles leaned back, handed the translation back to Lydia. “This is huge, Lyds. We’re fucking with nature.” He shook his head. “There must be another way.”

Derek put a hand on his shoulder. “You are the only one who can do this.” His hand was a steady, comforting weight.

Stiles felt a little sick. “What if I fuck it up?” He met Derek’s gaze.

“You won’t.” Derek sounded so sure that Stiles just had to grab him and drag his pretty face down for a kiss. 

“I will help.” Ith strolled into the living room and then hopped up on to a chair, turning several times before settling down, front legs folded carefully over each other. 

“Hey little guy,” Stiles didn’t admit that seeing the gryphon made him feel a little more in control. “Nice lunch?”

Ith’s eyes gleamed. “The rabbit was plump and tasty,” he agreed. 

“TMI, Ith, TMI.” Stiles held up a hand. “So, when you say “help”, what exactly do you mean?”

“As when we healed the hunter, I can lend you my power to boost your spark.” Ith lifted a talon and picked out something red and furry from his beak. Stiles refused to think about it.

“But that was _me_ giving you a little extra juice,” Stiles pointed out.

“Our bond works both ways.” Ith met his gaze. “We need the hunter as well.”

Sam and Dean stared at him. “Which one?” Sam asked.

“His soul has been washed white in his battles in Purgatory.” Ith looked at Dean. “Even though the stain on his spirit is clean, there is still much power within him.”

“I’m not used to sitting out of a fight,” Dean said with a frown. “But I’ll do whatever you need me to do. It’s your party.”

“I’m not leaving my brother alone.” Sam’s fists were already clenched. Stiles had a feeling that getting between the Winchesters would result in pain and blood.

Ith inclined his head. “As it should be. Your bonded will need your strength.” He looked over at Derek. “As will yours.”

“What about Xolotl?” Boyd asked the question Stiles wanted to ask. “How do we keep him busy while you are all playing at magic?”

“Run really, really fast.” Dean shrugged. “Don’t get caught.”

“We can do that.” Erica’s smile was all teeth.

“Don’t die.” Stiles made sure that the puppies were all looking at him. Erica and Isaac were far too eager to get this show on the road. Jackson was already pacing. Only Boyd and Scott waited for their orders. “Keep him moving. Sunrise is at six thirty. Make sure you get Xolotl here by then.”

“No earlier,” Lydia added. “We will be casting the summoning then, and will be completely vulnerable.”

“I won’t let that happen.” Derek’s eyes flashed red.

Stiles wrapped their hands together. “Aw, baby,” he cooed. “You gonna protect me from the scary skeleton dog god?”

“Yes.” Sometimes Stiles wondered how he and Derek were supposed to be a couple. He never got his cues right.

“So,” Lydia drew their attention back to her. “The sun is setting, and we need to get with the program.” She pointed at the pack. “You five need to get out there. Keep Xolotl busy until sunrise. I would suggest splitting up and working in circles.” They nodded at her.

“And me?” Allison looked at Lydia. “Where do you need me?”

“In the trees by the edge of the Hale property,” Derek said. “Get your dad here too. First line of defense in case Xolotl gets here before we’re ready.”

Allison nodded, already dialing Chris.

“I’m assuming you want me to protect your father and Melissa?” Peter asked.

Stiles shook his head. “Melissa’s on duty tonight and Dad’s at the station. You need to help the betas.”

Peter scowled. “I’m sure my abilities could be better….” Derek growled low in the back of his throat. Peter held up his hands. “Fine.”

Stiles often wondered if Peter just pretended to act like an asshole. Then he remembered the shit he’d pulled. And that he _was_ actually an asshole.

The betas headed out, whooping and yipping like kids. Stiles shook his head. The possibility of death shouldn’t have excited them so much. Peter at least managed to act with a little dignity as he walked out with Allison.

“How long will the summoning take to cast?” Sam pressed at the palm of his hand in a gesture that was clearly habit. He stopped only when Dean put his hand over Sam’s.

“If I look at the text, theoretically it should take about half an hour.” Lydia was writing something on a piece of paper. “I’m writing the summoning down phonetically so that you won’t have to worry about how to pronounce the spell.”

Dean poked Sam’s shoulder. “How come you never did that for me, huh?” He glared at Sam. “Always making me learn the fucking thing.”

Sam grinned. “It builds character.”

“Oh fuck you.” Dean grinned back.

“You feeling any better?” Derek asked Dean.

Dean made a see-saw motion with his free hand. “Eh, still a little wobbly, but I’ll be okay in a while.” He rubbed at his chest. “Feels really squirrelly inside me.”

Ith yawned and tucked his head beneath a snowy wing. “Derek needs to mark them.” He was talking only to Stiles now.

“What?” Stiles kept his eyes down, concentrating on Ith. “They’re not….”

“They are yours now.” Ith sounded certain. “They are pack.”

“They’re hunters who came here to kill us!” Stiles wondered if Ith remembered that.

“They were drawn here.” Ith ignored Stiles’ mental flail. “Have you thought about who brought them to Beacon Hills?”

Stiles looked to where Sam and Dean sat talking to Derek. “They said someone called them. Someone clearly wanted the wolves hunted.”

“Yes.” Ith sounded sleepy. “Talk to them. Someone summoned Xolotl. They are behind everything.”

“But…” Ith’s soft snore made him stop. He stood up and walked over to the Winchesters. “Ith believes that whoever called you guys here was the same person who summoned Xolotl.” 

Derek pulled Stiles down onto his lap. “Witch?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” Stiles shrugged. “Maybe another pack trying to take over our territory.”

“No offense,” Dean said. “But there’s nothing really special about Beacon Hills that I can see. Why would anyone go to such lengths to take over the territory?”

Stiles snorted. “Apart from the pack, who are pretty fucking special by the way, Beacon Hills is built on a convergence.”

“A what?” Dean frowned.

“A Hellmouth,” Lydia supplied. “The town is a legitimate magnet for all things supernatural.”

“And there’s the Nemeton,” Stiles offered. 

“The what?” Dean sounded like a parrot.

“Big tree of evil things,” Stiles explained. “Trust me, other packs want this territory.”

“Then someone must have hired a necromancer,” Lydia stated. “That is the only explanation.”

Stiles nodded. “And they must be working with hunters too, that trap was pure hunter design.”

Dean exchanged glances with Sam. “We can put out some feelers into the hunter community, try figure out who might be working with the enemy.” He held up a hand. “No insult intended.”

“None taken,” Stiles kept his tone pleasant. “Thanks. That would be good.”

Derek stood up, tumbling Stiles from his lap with a squawk. “This _was_ a declaration of war!” His eyes bled fire and the claws on his hands extended to razor-sharp points.

“Yup,” Stiles rubbed his ass. “Now, calm down, Sourwolf and let’s try to figure out which pack is so desperate to get their hands on our land.”

**There's a Moon Out ToN'Eye'ght**

Dean felt sick. “We were fucking duped, Sammy.” He hated feeling like a fool. “Brought here like they put a leash on us & took us for a walk.”

Sam nodded. “Seems like it.” He looked over at Stiles and Derek. “They intended for us to kill them all.”

Dean was furious. “We are not killers. They meant to aim us at them, like a gun.” 

Lydia looked up from her scribbling. “But you didn’t kill us. You’re on our side, and now we need you to help us to win the battle.”

Stiles ran a hand over Derek’s back. “Yeah. We need to win this one before we can end the war.”

Dean nodded. “Whatever you need.” He meant it. This crazy-assed bunch of misfits were more of a family than anything he’d ever seen in his life. He liked them, despite the monsters. “I don’t like being used.”

“You will get your chance at revenge,” Derek bared his teeth. 

Lydia sighed. “You’re talking too much. I can’t concentrate. I’m going to finish this in the library.” She picked up the text and her supplies and headed up the stairs.

“Uh,” Stiles put a hand up. “There’s something else.”

Dean had a feeling that he wasn’t going to like this. “What is it?” Sam asked. He looked just as wary as Dean felt.

“Ith says that Derek has to mark you.” Stiles hunched his shoulders as though waiting for a blow. “His words, not mine.”

Dean shook his head. “Not going to happen.” Not even Benny had been allowed to mark him.

“I won’t turn you,” Derek assured him. “Not every Alpha bite is a turning bite.”

“Forgive me if I say, hell to the fuck no.” Dean kept his tone pleasant. Sam put a hand on his arm. “No.” His voice was hard. “I mean it.”

“What does marking us entail?” Sam asked. Dean could feel the slight tremor of Sam’s body. It thrummed through him, setting every molecule in motion.

“Sam…” Dean couldn’t believe that Sam was even asking the question, let alone entertaining the possibility. 

“Is it permanent?” Sam held up his hand to quiet Dean’s protests.

“The bite links me with the pack,” Derek explained. “Stiles has been bitten, he’s still human. It is not just the soul-bond that helps me to hear his thoughts, feel his emotions. As pack, we can sense each other, how we’re feeling, if we are close by.”

“Is it permanent?” Sam repeated. Dean had a really bad feeling about this. Their entire lives, Sam had been the cautious one, the one who thought about things before jumping in with both feet. 

“Yes,” Derek said. Stiles kept his fingers on Derek’s back, grounding them both it seemed. “You will always be part of the pack.”

“Can we leave?” Sam asked.

Derek frowned. “What do you mean?” Dean knew exactly what Sam was asking.

“When this is over, when the god is sent back to wherever, can we leave?” Sam watched Derek closely. So did Dean. They were pretty quick to spot a lie.

“Of course.” Derek seemed a little offended. “Pack members aren’t required to live in Beacon Hills forever. Several of the betas are leaving soon to go back to college.” He turned his head to look at Stiles. “Including this one.”

“Hey!” Stiles poked at Derek’s thigh. “I’m not deaf. Sitting right here, dude. We’ve talked about it.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “No.” His voice was bland but Dean could see the sheer determination in his face. “ _You’ve_ talked about it. _I’ve_ found us a house just off campus with three bedrooms and a big enough yard for a barbeque.”

Stiles gaped at him. “You’re coming with me?” 

Derek’s eyes went dark. “The pack can go wherever they want. I go with you.”

Dean looked away when Stiles hurled himself into Derek’s arms, peppering his face with enthusiastic kisses. “God, I love you so fucking much, you asshole!” He pulled back, attempting a glare. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve been freaking out about this shit?”

The smile on Derek’s face was small and a little mean. “I sleep next to you. Of course I do.”

“You are the actual worst.” Stiles settled happily into Derek’s embrace. “I’m going to swap you out for a nicer model.”

Derek’s arms tightened. “You’re stuck with me.”

Dean wasn’t sure they should be watching this. It felt like it was something private. “Do you all just share everything with everyone?” he asked, genuinely curious. A lifetime of secrets had made him wary of such openness.

“Nope,” Stiles shook his head, popping the ‘p’ obnoxiously. “Sourwolf took a lot of training to become the sweetheart he is today.” Derek’s low growl was affectionate.

“So, back to the question, if you mark us, bite us, what does that mean for us when this is all over?” Sam wasn’t letting it go.

“It means that you are pack,” Derek said simply. “No matter where you go, you’ll leave a piece of yourself with us and we’ll be giving a part of ourselves to you.”

“And if you get to a place where there is an established pack, then they will be able to sense you are already part of a pack,” Stiles added. “Werewolf politics are a pain in the ass.”

Dean nudged Sam. “Winchesters being part of a wolf pack. It would seriously freak everyone out.” He found the idea hilarious. And terrifying.

Sam nodded. “Okay, we’ll do it.” He put his hands on his knees as though the decision was final.

“What?” Dean was sure he’d heard that wrong. “I was kidding!” Deliberately allowing a monster to mark him wasn’t anything he’d signed up for.

“Ith says we need to do it.” Sam sounded far too calm. Dean knew that nightmares still shook his brother awake. 

“Ith, and no offense to the little guy, is a gryphon!” Dean held out his palms. “A mythical creature who hangs with werewolves. What part of that is trustworthy?”

“And we’re trying to summon a Aztec god,” Sam said. “What part of any of that makes sense in the real world, Dean?”

Stiles waved a hand to get their attention. “I could maybe figure out a way to break the bond once this is all over?” He shrugged when Derek’s eyes flashed red at him. “Derek, they’re hunters. They don’t like the wolves and actually go out and kill your kind. Right now, they’re on our side, but what about a couple of months, years even, down the line? We don’t want them to be able to figure out our weaknesses.”

Dean snorted. “We know your weaknesses.” Years of hunting had taught them everything they needed to know about werewolves.

“Uh, no you don’t, Mr. “I know your weaknesses”,” Stiles mocked him. “You didn’t even know about packs and humans when you got here.” Stiles sat back, crossing his arms triumphantly. “You know shit.”

“Stiles…” Derek put a hand on his thigh. 

“Dean…” Sam reached out and wrapped long fingers around Dean’s wrist.

Stiles and Dean glowered at each other mutinously for a few seconds. 

“Ugh, fine!” Stiles rolled his eyes. “He’s just being a dick on purpose.” He narrowed his gaze at Dean. “You are, you know.”

Dean shook his head. “No, actually I’m not.” And suddenly it was important that they understand. “We are the last in our family line. Our father was a hunter, our mother was a hunter, our grandfather was a hunter. You get the drift?”

“Born hunter like I was born wolf,” Derek nodded.

“Yeah.” Dean clasped his hands together. “What you’re suggesting we do, it goes against everything we’ve ever been taught.” He met Sam’s gaze. “It’s like you’re asking us to become the monsters we’ve hunted all our lives.”

Stiles leaned forward. “I get that, I really do, but this is Beacon Hills, and just like Sunnydale, the rules just don’t apply.” 

Dean looked into Stiles’ eyes. All he saw was honesty. The kid believed what he was saying. He sighed, dropping his head a little. “You can undo the bond?” he asked.

“I can try,” Stiles amended.

Dean regarded Sam. Sam who was the beginning and the end of everything in his world. “Okay,” he whispered. “Let’s do it.” Sam’s eyes widened and something twitched inside Dean. There was the sound of a gong reverberating through his insides a second later. “What the fuck?” He grabbed at his chest.

“Oh yeah,” Stiles grinned at him. “That’s the second rope of the soul-bond. You guys are almost there.” He patted Dean’s knee. “Trust me, it’s awesome.”

**Say Goodn’Eye’ght And Go**

Stiles left Derek to explain the marvels of the soul-bond a little more to the Winchesters. He headed upstairs to check up on Lydia.

She sat at the window, head down, eyes on the paper she was scratching on. The moon had risen and it loved the burnished strands of her hair.

“You’re so pretty,” Stiles told her. 

She lifted her head with a smile. “I know.”

Stiles grinned. “I wonder what might have happened if I hadn’t been so gay for Derek?”

Lydia snorted. “The same thing that happened anyway.”

“Breaking my heart all over again without a thought,” Stiles told her. “You done with the summoning?”

She nodded, held out the paper. “If this doesn’t work, then we may have real problems,” she said. “If it only sort of works, then we might start Armageddon.” Her smile had vanished.

“No pressure then,” Stiles quipped, feeling a little light-headed. He looked at the paper. “Cuando el amanecer despierte y la estrella de la tarde se desvanezca, entonces deja que el lucero del alba llegue y se lleve a su hermano al inframundo.” He looked up at her. “What does it mean?”

She quoted, “When the dawn awakes and the evening star fades, then let the morning star come and take his brother to the underworld.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound too bad.” Stiles wondered if this was all just a little _too_ easy.

“You have to say it _exactly_ right,” she warned him. “Not a word or syllable out of place or mispronounced.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I get it, end of the world shit if I don’t do this right.” 

A howl split the quiet, and they went to the window. “I guess they’ve found Xolotl,” Lydia said. 

Stiles looked at his watch. “What time is sunrise?”

Lydia stared out of the window. “It’s at five forty-five.” She tapped the glass. “We have a while to wait.”

Another howl and then an abrupt yip made Stiles tense up. “I hope they’re okay.” 

“As long as they don’t let the dog god get hold of them, they should be fine.” Dean’s voice broke into the conversation. “It’s a fast other-fucker, but I reckon the werewolves are faster.”

“You hope,” Stiles muttered, relaxing when Derek came over to him and wrapped his arm around him. “You can feel them okay?”

“They’re fine,” Derek assured him. He stroked a hand down Stiles’ back. “You ready for this?”

Stiles had never felt less ready for anything ever. “Sure.” He went for firm, it came out wobbly.

“I’ll be right here,” Derek promised.

“I know, babe.” Stiles rested his head on Derek’s shoulder. “I just can’t fuck this up.” The enormity of what they were planning to do suddenly hit him. “Oh god, what if I kill the sun and launch another Ice Age!”

“You can do it.” Stiles met Sam’s gaze. There was nothing there but unwavering confidence.

“Thanks.” He tried a smile but thought it probably looked manic. 

“You should try get some sleep,” Lydia told him. “I’ll set my alarm for half an hour before sunrise.”

“You’re gonna need it,” Dean added.

“I can’t just go to sleep when my friends are out there,” Stiles protested.

“You won’t be any good to us if you’re fried.” Dean’s words were blunt but not unkind.

“I’ll keep watch,” Derek promised. “If anything bad happens to anyone in the pack, I’ll wake you up.”

Sam nodded. “ _We’ll_ keep watch.”

Stiles sighed. “Fine.” He pointed a finger at Derek. “The second…”

Derek pressed a kiss to the tip of Stiles’ finger. It made him gooey and stupid when Derek did shit like that. “I swear.”

Stiles nodded slowly. “Okay.” He rubbed his hands on his thighs. “I guess I’ll get some rest then.”

He kissed Derek, soft and slow, ignoring Lydia’s groan. “Night, Sourwolf.” He pulled back with a small smile, liking that Derek’s eyes were glazed over.

“Yeah,” Derek breathed, reluctantly letting him go.

Stiles headed to Derek’s room, kicked off his shoes and threw himself onto the messy bed. He wasn’t going to sleep a wink, he thought.

He was out before his head hit the pillow.

**Alr’Eye’ght With Me**

Dean saw Derek’s gaze flick over them. “We should go ahead with marking you now,” Derek said. “Give a chance for the pack bond to get settled before we need to do anything.”

“And that’s my cue to go and be amazing somewhere else,” Lydia’s smile was brittle and fever-bright. “I’ll see you in a little while.” Dean got the impression that she was very eager to leave the room.

“What up with that?” He tilted his head to the doorway.

“She doesn't like this part of it all. Lydia is a banshee and so is immune to the bite.” Derek sighed. “Peter tried to turn her when he was the alpha. It didn’t go well.”

Dean wanted to ask more questions. “Creepy Uncle Peter was an alpha?” Derek nodded. “How do you stop being an alpha?” It seemed like John Winchester’s journal was not at all accurate when it came to werewolves.

“Generally death is pretty much the point where it stops.” Derek’s dry voice had Dean give a startled laugh.

“He’s not dead though.” Sam, Mr. States the Obvious pointed out.

“He was.” Derek didn’t say anything more.

“Dude…” Dean held out his hands. “That’s so not enough of an answer.”

Derek gave a little grin. “I’ll make you a deal, we make it out alive, I’ll tell you the rest of it.” 

Dean solemnly shook his hand. “There are some stories worth living for.”

Sam walked over to Derek. Dean had to stop himself from reaching out to stop him. “Where do you want to put the bite?” Sam asked.

“Hip or shoulder would be best,” Derek said. “But if you’re not comfortable with either then you pick a spot.”

“Shoulder is fine,” Sam shrugged out of his shirt. Dean couldn’t stop his eyes from roaming over all that skin. The bond shit had turned him into a fucking girl. “Go for it.”

“Sam…” Dean stepped forward.

“I’m doing this, Dean.” Sam met his gaze. “You don’t have to, but I think we need this connection to the pack tonight.”

Dean shuddered when he saw Derek’s teeth elongate. He still had nightmares about being a vampire. Just another thing that haunted his dreams. One of about a million others.

He turned away when Derek struck, unable to watch his brother willingly submitting to a monster. Sam’s quick intake of breath had him turning back. The bite was small, barely bleeding. Sam twisted his head to peer at it. “That’s it?” he asked.

Derek nodded. “It’s not a turning bite. No matter what your lore says, only alphas can turn humans, and not every bite turns them.” Dean thought that maybe Derek was talking to him, even though he was looking at Sam as he spoke.

“Dean?” Sam’s face was expectant. He stood there, tall and beautiful with the mark of a werewolf on his shoulder. Dean couldn’t deal with that rationally. 

“I don’t think I can do it, Sammy.” Dean started shaking inside just thinking about it. “It just feels like a mistake.”

Dean had been a monster. He’d befriended a monster. He’d killed more monsters than he could remember. But seeing Sam do this, without hesitation, felt wrong in every way. 

“It’s fine,” Derek’s eyes were soft. “Your brother is linked to the pack now, and you to him through the soul-bond. It should be enough to get us through the summoning.”

Sam came over to Dean. “Don’t worry, man. I’ve got this.” His voice was very low. Dean was barely conscious of Derek leaving the library.

“What if you become a werewolf?” Dean’s voice was very small. It was fear that after finally getting his brother back he was going to lose him again.

“Derek said I wouldn’t.” Sam sounded entirely too confident in the word of monster.

“And you just believe him?” Dean asked. “Just trust him?” He was getting pissed now. Sam never cut him any slack and here he was, just taking the word of a werewolf as gospel.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I do.” He lifted his hand, cupped Dean’s cheek. “You need to trust me a little too.”

Dean leaned into Sam’s touch, still amazed that they got to do this too. “I trust you,” he muttered. “It’s the big ass alpha with teeth and claws that I’m a little iffy about.”

Sam pressed a soft kiss on Dean’s mouth. “I believe in them,” he whispered into the tiny space between them. “I’ve been watching them. They’re something special.”

Dean didn’t want to talk any more. “Beacon Hills is a very strange town,” he murmured against Sam’s lips. Kissing his brother was still new, still felt dangerous.

Just then a wolf howled and Dean’s blood froze. He’d forgotten for a moment why they were here, what they had to do. 

“We should get some rest too,” Sam suggested, ignoring the sounds of the night. “Don’t know what sort of crazy the dawn will bring.”

Dean allowed him to lead him to a room. The bed was huge and inviting. Dean sincerely hoped that it wasn’t someone’s room, someone’s bed.

Sam pushed him down to the mattress, silent and intent. He wrestled Dean out of his shirt, left him in his tee. Eyes very dark, he unbuckled Dean’s belt, tugged at his zip. Dean toed his boots off, lying back and letting Sam undress him.

“You are everything.” Sam’s whisper was barely audible in the dark when he got into the bed and wrapped himself around Dean. “ _Everything_.”

“Jeez, Sammy, don’t get all emotional on me.” Dean was desperate to keep this light.

But it was them, so it was important. “Don’t you try to be a hero tomorrow,” Sam warned. “I won’t be happy.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. “Ditto for you, asshole.”

“Okay.” Sam pressed his face into the back of Dean’s neck, mouth hot and wet against his skin. “Just remember.”

Dean shivered when Sam’s hand moved to his boxers. “I will,” he swore. Sam’s big palm enveloped Dean’s cock. He sucked in a breath as Sam slowly jacked him off. It was excruciatingly hard to keep still. 

“Shhh,” Sam whispered. “I’ve got you.” He coated his palm in the drops of pre-come on Dean’s dick, the friction of his hand a painful pleasure. “I’ve got you.”

Dean let his head fall against Sam’s chest with a moan. He wanted to crawl out of his skin. “Stop fucking around, Sammy. I will end you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sam growled into his ear. “You’re not the boss right now.”

The possessive command made Dean shiver. “Huh.” Sam’s voice was amused. “You like being told what to do, Dean?”

“You are such a dick.” Dean could barely speak he was so turned on. Sam’s hand kept a slow, agonizing rhythm that fucked with Dean’s senses. He couldn’t feel, hear or see anything, just Sam.

“One day soon, I’m going to fuck you.” Sam’s promise made Dean’s cock _weep_. Sam’s mouth was a brand against Dean’s skin. “You’re going to take me so deep that you’ll feel me in your fucking throat.”

Dean’s balls drew up tight and hard. “Fuck…Sam….fuck…hot…shit…god….” He’d lost the power to speak, to think with Sam’s tormenting hand on his dick.

“I can’t wait to taste you. Open you up with my tongue and fingers.” Sam’s filthy whisper was the last straw. Dean came with a shout, body shaking in Sam’s arms.  
Sam held him through the aftershocks, murmuring in his ear and grinding his cock against Dean's ass.

“I could...” Dean flapped a hand vaguely in the air. 

“Nah.” He could hear the smile in Sam's voice. “Your ass will do fine.” Dean's breath hitched as he felt Sam shove against him, hips stuttering, mouth gasping. Sam slumped against him with a low groan, big body shuddering behind Dean's.

Dean grabbed Sam's hand, twined their fingers together and closed his eyes. “Not one word,” he warned Sam. 

“But....” The laughter was audible through that one rough word.

“Not one.” Dean was going to hold his brother's fucking, hand and Sam could shut the fuck up.

Sam snorted into the back of his neck. 

Dean let the sound of Sam's easy breathing lull him to sleep. They had gods to banish in the morning. They needed their strength.

**Sure F’Eye’re Winners**

Stiles dreamed of bones and dragons. The sun and the moon danced dizzily in the sky while Venus bounced between them.

Derek shook him awake and it took him a few seconds to get out of the dreamscape. “Whoa,” he muttered, scrubbing at his eyes. “That was some gnarly shit.”

“Gnarly is a stupid word.” Derek lifted his chin. “You look like crap. It's time to get moving.”

Stiles glared at Derek's back. “I love you too, asshole.” Derek just lifted his middle finger as he headed out the door.

Stiles sat up, stretched the kinks out of his spine. He checked his phone. It was five fifteen. Half an hour until they had to try to get rid of a god without destroying the world. Should be a piece of cake.

He headed to the nearest bathroom for a pee. His head was still full of dreams. He splashed water on his face and stared at himself in the mirror. Dark circles under his eyes make him look like a walking cadaver. Derek had been right. He _did_ look like shit.

He followed the tantalizing scent of coffee to the kitchen where Sam and Dean sat talking quietly to Derek and Lydia. They all looked up when he walked in. “Ready and willing. Super!Stiles reporting for duty.” Stiles tried a smile. “Coffee first though.” Derek handed him his mug. “You’re the best,” he crooned into the cup.

“Would you like us to leave the room?” Dean asked with a quirk of an eyebrow. 

Stiles shook his head. “My love is pure,” he said. “I’m not ashamed.”

“You are so weird,” Lydia shook her head. “You have about twenty minutes.”

“Is there anything we need to get set up?” Sam asked.

Stiles’ phone rang. “Scottie McHottie, my man,” Stiles was glad to hear that his best bud had survived the night. 

“This thing moves freakin’ fast!” Scott gasped into the phone. “We’ve started back towards the house.” Stiles heard the crash of branches and the heavy breathing of a friend. He might have panicked a little.

“Don’t get caught,” Stiles reminded him. He looked up at the others. “We’d better get ready. They’re on their way.”

Lydia nodded, put her cup down and led them through to the living room. She’d drawn a circle with mountain ash, one point still not joined. “We need to sit inside the circle.”

Stiles could practically feel Derek’s unease. “I’ll be trapped.” He didn’t look at Sam or Dean. A werewolf confined with a pair of the world’s most dangerous hunters was not an ideal situation.

Lydia propped her hands on her hips. “Look, either you trust me or this is a waste of my time.” 

“So bossy.” Stiles kept his hand steady between Derek’s shoulder blades. “We’ll be okay, Sourwolf. I've got you.”

Derek's expression wasn't happy. “You've got me? Who's got you?”

Stiles beamed at him. “You know the sure-fire way to my geeky heart, Lois Lane.” He pressed a kiss to Derek’s bicep. “I’m the one doing the heavy lifting. You just need to keep me grounded, babe.”

Dean squared his shoulders. “What do you need from us?”

Ith went to the center of the circle and folded himself down. “We should all be sitting down before the summoning begins.”

Stiles was the first to move, entering the circle and sitting where Ith indicated. “Why here?” he asked, crossing his legs as he sat.

“That is true north,” Ith said. He watched as Derek sat opposite him. “South.” Dean and Sam took their positions at east and west respectively.

Lydia closed the circle. 

“I can hear them,” Derek said, looking out towards the forest. “They’re almost here.”

Stiles took out the paper that he’d already memorized. “When?” he asked Lydia.

“Soon,” she said, walking to the front door and peering out. “God, that thing sounds terrible.” Stiles could see the edge of the woods from the circle. He kept his eyes trained on the tree line. He could glimpse the fingers of the dawn sun creeping over the tops of the trees.

Stiles heard the clack of bones and the howl of wolves. He straightened his back and held out his hands. “I think I’m going to need you all to hold on,” he whispered.

Sam took one hand and Dean took the other. Derek completed the circle. Ith suddenly took flight. “Where are you going?” Stiles demanded. 

“I’m going to help the wolves,” Ith said. “When Quetzalcoatl gets here it’s going to be hard for them to figure out where to go.” He flew out of the door, heading for the woods.

Just then, Scott came barreling through the trees, Jackson and Isaac hot on his heels. “Now! Now! Now!” Scott was yelling as he ran. Erica and Boyd bulleted out of another section of forest, moving faster than Stiles had ever seen them run. Ith flew in circles around them, ushering them towards the house.

“Hold on,” Lydia said, keeping her gaze trained on the trees. Xolotl smashed through branches and tree trunks like matchsticks, his bones sliding apart and re-knitting in a sickening motion.

“Lydia!” Stiles said urgently.

“Hold on,” she said, not bothering to turn.

The rattle grew louder as Xolotl drew nearer. Stiles could see the freaky looking backwards facing legs and feet. “Holy shit,” he breathed.

“Right?” Dean shook his. “That is fucking not cool, man.”

“Now!” Lydia called when the pack tumbled through the doorway, Ith behind them, and Xolotl put his foot on the steps to the house.

Stiles spoke the summoning without thought, the words etched into his brain. He felt his hands grow warm. Dean sucked in a breath.

“Don’t let go!” Sam warned. “Don’t break the circle.”

“Again!” Lydia shouted, backing into the living room with the others. They quickly moved to surround the group on the floor, a fragile barrier between them and a god.

Stiles obeyed, repeated the summoning. His hands felt like they were on fire. “Fuck,” Sam hissed. 

“Don’t let go,” Derek growled. Sam glared at Derek but quickly focused back on Stiles.

Stiles felt his spark leap out and smash into Derek, yanking at the wolf power that thrummed below his skin. Derek gritted his teeth, not fighting Stiles’ magic.

“What the hell…?” Sam looked at Dean. “Can you feel that?”

Dean shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “Just my hand burning, nothing else.”

“Oh,” Sam said. “That’ll change.”

**Eye Need to Know**

Dean frowned. He could handle a little heat. He had no idea what Sam was…. “Holy fucking shit!” he yelped as magic punched into him, burrowing down through meat and bone.

Dean could _feel_ Stiles inside him, rummaging around like it was his right. It went against every instinct he possessed to let someone in like that. Stiles brooked no resistance though. He pushed in, and Dean could feel the magic burning its way through his soul.

“Oh. My. God.” Dean lifted his head to see the pack staring out at Xolotl. He blinked. The sun had been just coming over the horizon. Suddenly, it was gone, plunging the world back into complete darkness.

“Stiles!” Derek spoke his name urgently. Dean looked over to Stiles. His eyes were burning coals in his pale face.

“This is the weirdest shit I’ve ever seen,” Dean noted, striving for a normal tone while his insides were being turned outside by the magic from a kid. “And I’ve been to Hell.”

Xolotl had frozen, his ears spinning in circles on his head. “He looks like a pit bull,” Dean said. Sam frowned at him. “What?” Dean shrugged. “Just trying to lighten the moment that we **killed the sun**!” The utter lack of light was unnerving.

Scott tipped his head to one side. “Maybe a mastiff?” he suggested.

“I’m surrounded by idiots.” Lydia shook her head.

The sound of something huge hitting the ground made them all jump. “Oh god,” Jackson groaned. “What now?”

“I’m guessing that’s big brother?” Dean wondered.

Xolotl’s head rotated on his spine of bone. It was some of the freakiest shit Dean had ever seen. A moment later the world burst into flames. 

The four of them were ripped apart, hands torn from one another as a concussive wave of sound thundered through the air.

Stiles screaming was the last thing Dean remembered.

**Eye must be Dreaming**

Stiles blinked rapidly, hands running up and down his body in quick inventory. All seemed intact. He tried to sit up and groaned when lightning seemed to pierce his brain.

He scrunched his eyes closed as he levered himself to a sitting position. When he opened them again, he realized that he was the only one who was currently conscious. Everyone else was out. He crawled to Derek, comforted by the rapid movement of his chest. On closer inspection of the rest of his motley crew, they were apparently all alive, just not awake.

“Babe,” he croaked, throat raw from screaming. “Wake up.” Derek remained unresponsive. Hopefully it was just a bad case of magical concussion, Stiles thought. Remembering the last few seconds before he’d blacked out he looked out the door, afraid of what he’d see. 

Light blazed so bright that he had to shield his eyes. He got to his feet, every muscle protesting the movement and stumbled to the doorway.

The sky was still dark, not even a hint of the light that had been dawning when Stiles had recited the summoning. Not even a star or the moon blinked from the heavens. The only visible source of light was a circle of fire in the center of the lawn in front of the house.

Xolotl had moved away from the house, towards the source of the light. Stiles could barely make out a shape in the center of what looked like a mini sun on the front lawn. It looked like it had wings and was shaped like a…

“Nakakem?” Stile whispered. “Is that you?”

“All is well, Stiles,” his dragon assured him mentally. “I will take my brother home to Mictlan. He must have become lost on his journey through the sky.”

“But…” Stiles tried to wrap his mind around the fact that his little dragon was a real life god. “How…?”

“Xolotl is my dark half,” Nakakem told him. “He guards me when I pass through the underworld each night.”

“You were here.” Stiles stepped forward, felt his skin heat from Nakakem’s burning presence. “You were my dragon.”

Nakakem laughed in his mind. “I will _always_ be your dragon, Stiles. I am, however, not _merely_ a dragon. I am Quetzalcoatl, the winged serpent, the daystar, the boundary maker between Earth and Sky.”

Stiles coughed. “Well, now I feel a little inadequate.”

Nakakem laughed again. “I miss you, Stiles. I will miss you always.”

Xolotl rattled into the light surrounding Nakakem, and disappeared. “I bid you goodbye.” Nakakem’s voice was fading in his mind.

“Wait!” Stiles called. “I need to ask you something else!”

“One more question Stiles. Then I must return to the Sky else the world will be an eternal darkness,” Nakakem sounded impatient.

Stiles grinned. That sounded more like the Nakakem Baleful-Claw he remembered. “Xolotl didn’t get lost,” he told Nakakem. “He was brought here to kill my alpha and my pack.”

The light flared up, making Stiles’ eyes water. “This was deliberate?” Nakakem demanded.

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “We think it must have been a necromancer.”

“But why would someone target your….” Nakakem trailed off. “Of course.”

“Of course what?” Stiles asked, completely lost.

“My enemy, Tezcatlipoca, has ever wanted to destroy me. Perhaps he knew of my sojourn here with you on the mortal plane.” Nakakem sounded pissed off. 

“So you’re the reason we’ve been attacked?” Stiles couldn’t’ believe it. “And you didn’t know? Who is this Tezcatlipoca dude, anyway?”

“I will attend to this,” Nakakem hedged. “I apologize for your troubles. It appears as though I have been remiss in my duties.” 

“What are you going to do?” Stiles asked.

“Return Tezcatlipoca to the state he was once, before he tried to destroy me,” Nakakem said cryptically.

“Dude!” Stiles protested. “You have to give me more than that!”

Nakakem sighed. “All I will say is this. Steer well away from the big cats.”

“That is so not acceptable!” Stiles was outraged. “Which cats? Why? Will they eat me?”

“You are ever full of questions, Stiles.” Nakakem sounded amused once more. “Farewell, my human friend. This time you _shall_ forget me. Should you see me again, it will be to guide you to your eternal rest in Mictlan.”

“Wait!” Stiles yelled. He wanted to see Nakakem in her true form just one time.

“The sun must rise, Stiles,” her gentle reproof made Stiles gulp. “It was wonderful to see you again, but I bid you farewell once more.” Her presence was gone from his mind a heartbeat later.

For a brief moment, the radiance from Nakakem was almost unbearable, and then it was gone. Stiles blinked fiercely against the glare and looked up. The sun was slowly inching up in the sky, and Stiles could see, very faintly, a dark shadow behind it.

“Huh.” He said, sitting down on the top step, waiting for everyone else to wake up.

**Written All Over M’Eye Face**

Dean refused to admit he’d fainted. “I passed out,” he grumbled, letting Sam pull him to his feet. “I did not _swoon_.”

Stiles grinned at him. “Like a damsel,” he said, far too cheerful. His phone rang. “Hey Dad, yeah, all okay here. Nobody died, so we’re counting it totally as a win.”

His dad started yelling something about darkness and the sun dying. “I’ll tell you all about it,” he promised. “We just need to do some clean up here.”

“Is there blood?” His dad asked. “Are there bodies?”

Stiles scowled. “It's not always like that!”

His dad sighed. “Sadly, son, yes, it is.”

Derek took the phone from Stiles. “All accounted for, sir. Nobody was injured in any way.” He held the phone away from Stiles who jumped to grab it. “Apparently, Nakakem is actually Quetzalcoatl, and she's taken Xolotl back to Mictlan, or something.” He paused, listening to whatever John was saying.

Stiles tried to grab the phone again. Derek put his hand on his forehead and simply held him in place. Stiles really hated it when Derek did that shit. He heard Dean snigger and shot him a death glare. Seemed like Winchesters were as immune to the Stilinksi death glare of death as Derek was.

“Yeah, _that_ Nakakem,” Derek said. “Stiles was the only one that was awake to see and talk to her.”

“ _My_ father!” Stiles reminded Derek, making another attempt. Derek rolled his eyes and ignored Stiles' flailing hands.

“I don't have all the details yet,” Derek admitted. “I'm sure Stiles will over-exaggerate the story when he tells you.”

“Rude!” Stiles yelped.

Dean and Sam shook with laughter as Derek handed the phone back to Stiles.

“So, you're all alive, the crisis is averted and things can revert back to the less-than-normal our lives have been for the past few years?” his dad asked.

“I'm not letting you and Derek hang together anymore,” Stiles threatened. “Yes, that's about it.”

“See you at home, son.” Sheriff Stilinski, ladies and gents, a man of few words.

He put his phone back in his pocket and looked around the room. The pack were in various positions of complete and utter exhaustion. Keeping a dog god running through the woods at night had obviously tired them out.

Lydia and Allison were in the kitchen. Lydia had promised breakfast on the proviso that it was _never_ asked of her again. Stiles was going to bask in the one-time deal. 

Dean came over to him. “You did good,” he said, putting a big hand on his shoulder. “You and your merry band of werewolves surprised me.” 

Stiles had a feeling that the admission cost Dean something. “Thanks,” he said. “I couldn't have done it without you.”

He stopped. “Where's Ith?” Stiles asked, looking around the room. Everyone sat up, equally alert. “Anyone seen the little dude?” Stiles felt a panic attack coming on. 

Derek hustled over to him, taking his hand. “Calm down,” he ordered. “I'm sure Ith just went to get something to eat after all the energy he used to help with the spell.”

Stiles knew the reasoning was sound, but something told him it wasn't the truth. “I haven't seen him since I woke up,” he told Derek, trying to remember if Ith had been one of the bodies that were laid low by the summoning.

“Stiles...” Derek was using his calming “I'm the alpha” voice that just made Stiles get more worked up.

“I've lost my gryphon!” Stiles shouted, full-blown panic setting it.

“No you haven't,” Sam's steady voice was like a beacon to Stiles. 

He grasped Sam's arm. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

“Look,” was all Sam said, pointing to the corner of the living room. There, curled up in a ball, beneath the shadow of the easy chair, was Ith.

“Oh thank god,” Stiles breathed, almost weeping with happiness. “I thought...”

“He's tired, like all of us,” Derek said, pulling Stiles into his arms. “We need some rest.”

“Not until you've eaten!” Lydia announced, coming into the living room with several plates of food. Allison was close behind her, juggling plates and cutlery. 

Scott leapt to his feet to help her, grinning at her. “I've got this,” he said, grabbing the plates. She smiled back at him.

“Stop flirting and make yourself useful,” Lydia ordered. “The rest of the food is in the kitchen.” Scott opened his mouth to protest and closed it when Lydia leveled a look at him. Hi slunk into the kitchen , hauling Isaac to his feet to help.

Stiles put his head on Derek's shoulder. “We did good,” he noted.

Derek 'mm-hmm'd in his ear. Stiles snuggled in. Derek's arms were the safest place to be.

“Come on,” Lydia waved them over. “Eat first, then sleep.”

All of them were so conditioned to obeying Lydia's orders that they were munching enthusiastically before Stiles realized it. He pointed a fork at Lydia. “You are scary and cannot be allowed to rule the world.”

She smirked. “Please, as if you'd be able to stop me.”

Stiles grinned around his mouthful of fluffy scrambled eggs. “Thish ish true,” he burbled.

“Classy as always, Stilinksi,” Jackson sneered. Stiles was beginning to spot the real sneers from the awkward, 'Jackson actually loves me' sneers. 

“Bite me, Whittemore.” Stiles thought his response was suitably succinct. Jackson just bared his teeth in a snarl. All was right with the world.

Everyone finished eating. The wolves polished their plates and made short work of any left-overs. Stiles knew that was a concept that was in distant memory now.

“So,” Dean drawled. “About that mark?”

Stiles sighed. There was always _something_.

**Last Goodb’Eye**

Dean could practically feel the weight of Sam's glare. He didn't care though. This was important.

“I can break the link with magic,” Stiles offered, holding out a hand to Sam.

“No.” Sam's simple response made everyone stop what they were doing. “I'm good.”

“Sammy.” Dean wanted to order Sam to do this shit and get it over with. He'd learned, however, that ordering Sam usually ended with Armageddon or the devil wearing a white suit and breaking Dean's neck. 

“I'm okay with this, Dean.” Sam met his gaze. His eyes were clear and his jaw was set. Dean knew better than to argue with him when he had that face on. Didn't mean he wasn't going to try though.

“If you keep the mark, you will be pack,” Derek warned. “I can order you to do things as your Alpha.”

“Good luck with that,” Sam smiled. “I don't really take well to orders.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, he really doesn't.” Then he got serious. “You can't do this, man.” He looked at Sam. “You're a hunter.”

“So am I,” Allison piped up from the circle of Scott's arms. “I have the mark too and I manage.”

“Dean, this is a good thing,” Sam assured him. He didn't bother whispering, the wolves would hear it all anyway. 

“How can being part of a werewolf pack be a good thing for a Winchester?” Dean asked. He needed to get through to Sam.

“It gives us an edge.” Sam's face was determined. “I'm not going to change my mind.”

Dean clenched his fists. “This is a bad idea,” Dean gritted. “Way up there with your drinking demon blood to get the power to expel demons.”

“What?” Stiles' eyes went very wide. “You drank demon blood?” 

Dean wanted to bash his head against the wall. “I shouldn't have said that.” Sam looked devastated. “I'm sorry. That was a shit thing to bring up.”

Sam shook his head. “No, we've obviously still got a lot to work through.” 

Dean was grateful that Sam was giving him this 'get out of jail free' card. “Yeah, man, I'm…”

Sam held up his hand. “It's okay. We're okay.” He tried a smile, but Dean could see the damage he'd done. He was a complete asshole. 

“So, apart from drinking demon blood, is there anything else we should know about you before we accept you into our pack forever?” Derek's voice broke into Dean's self-flagellation. 

“You can't have him,” Dean stepped in front of Sam. “He's not going to be one of you.”

Derek's eye roll was so hard that Dean wondered if he'd hurt his eyeballs. “I'm not going to turn him, you moron.” He indicated the other humans in the room. 

“He'd be one of us non-furries,” Stiles said. “He'd be pack.”

It sounded so simple, so innocuous, but Dean had enough experience with the monsters that he knew things were never that simple.

“I'm okay with that,” Sam said, stepping out from behind Dean.

“Well, _I'm_ not.” Dean glared at Sam.

“It's not your choice to make,” Sam said, cutting Dean off at the knees and making him gape. “You're my brother, not my mother. You're the most important person in my life, but you don't own me.”

Dean wanted to protest, but he knew that he wasn't going to win this one. Not now.

“Anytime you want me to break the pack-bond, you can come back,” Stiles assured him. “We won't ask you for much.”

Dean snorted. “Much.”

Derek leveled a look at him that spoke volumes. “We might need some extra help in the future. If you're nearby, we will call you. If you can, you'll come?”

Sam nodded. “I'll come.” He held out his hand and Derek took it.

“ _We'll_ come.” Dean moved to Sam's side. He saw Stiles' quick grin. 

“That would be good,” Derek said, and his mouth tilted in a quick smile. Dean realized just how young he was. He tended to forget these things when he was just looking at the creature within.

“And on that note.” Stiles clapped his hands together. “I think we should all go home and get some rest.”

Sam looked at Dean. “Our gear is still at the Sheriff's place.”

Dean sighed. “Fine. Sleep and _then_ we hit the road.”

Stiles smiled at Dean. “The puppy pile will be _EPIC_ tonight.” He scooped up a grumbling Ith in his arms, and Derek followed him out of the house to his jeep.

“Puppy pile?” Dean asked, following him with Sam at his heels.

“You really don't want to know,” Lydia told him. “It's like an orgy. With fur.”

“What!” Dean knew they were kidding. He looked over to where Scott and Isaac were cuddling a giggling Allison as they climbed into the back of a black Camaro. “Fur orgies?” What the fuck? Sam!”

Sam threw back his head and laughed. It was pretty much the best sound Dean had ever heard.

**Eye’ll Love You Till the End**

Stiles lay quietly in Derek’s arms that night. The house was silent, everyone had either gone home or gone to bed. He totally wasn’t thinking about what the Winchesters might be doing across the hall.

“Stop thinking about what the Winchesters are doing,” Derek rumbled in his ear.

Stiles reached up and tweaked a nipple. “Stop reading my mind,” he ordered. Derek’s chest looked like marble, but was actually really comfortable to rest on. “I was just….”

“No.” Derek was firm. 

Stiles grinned into his skin, pressed his lips against the abused nipple. Derek’s s shudder was gratifying.

“It’s too late to start anything,” Derek told him. “I thought you were exhausted.”

Stiles looked up at him beneath his eyelashes. He knew how it affected Derek. “I’m just feeling affectionate,” he said.

Derek’s expression was skeptical. “Really?”

Stiles slid his hand down Derek’s torso to his groin. “Well, _someone_ is wanting some attention.” He wrapped his fingers around Derek’s cock. “Hey baby,” he crooned.

“Don’t talk to my dick.” Derek’s order lacked conviction.

“Please,” Stiles scoffed, “Your dick loves it when I talk to it.” He gave the tip an experimental lick. It twitched. Stiles beamed at it. “Good boy.”

Derek dropped his head back onto the pillow with a groan. “I regret everything.”

Stiles was too busy trying to stuff Derek's entire cock into his mouth. He knew Derek was lying anyway. He regretted nothing.

Besides, soul-bonds meant no take-backsies. And Stiles was keeping Derek forever.

THE END.


End file.
